WITH A TASK 
 BEFORE ME 
 
 ABRAHAM 
 
 LIHCOLH 
 
 LEAVES 
 
 SPRINGFIELD 
 
 #f§ 
 
 8M? 
 
 Author of "OUT OF THE WILDERNESS," etc. 
 
 Illustrated by MANNING DE V. LEE 
 
$3.00 
 
 WITH A TASK 
 BEFORE ME 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 LEAVES SPRINGFIELD 
 
 By VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 Illustrated by Manning De V. Lee 
 
 "Captain Abraham Lincoln sat with his long 
 arms around his legs, knees hunched to his 
 chin, and stared into the fire . . . Things were 
 too quiet . . ." 
 
 With this picturesque beginning, you join 
 young Lincoln in the Black Hawk War, in 
 1832, and you stay with him until he departs 
 for Washington from Springfield, Illinois, to 
 become President of the United States. 
 
 In reading with a task before me, you be- 
 come very much a part of this great man's 
 life. You learn how he happened to enter 
 politics; what his unwavering principles were; 
 what are believed to be the facts about Ann 
 Rutledge and Mary Owens, and of his real 
 love for elegant Mary Todd— and of hers foi 
 him. 
 
 Virginia S. Eifert has lived all her life in 
 Springfield, Illinois, where the presence and 
 history of this outstanding humanitarian are 
 still very much alive. Having, moreover, grand- 
 parents who actually knew the Lincolns, she is 
 unusually well qualified to write the human 
 and living narrative of Abraham Lincoln, 
 which now includes four volumes— the buf- 
 falo trace, out of the wilderness, three 
 
 RIVERS SOUTH and WITH A TASK BEFORE ME. 
 
 Distinguished pictures by Manning de V. 
 Lee. 
 
 DMOOI4H — BG 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
LINCOLN ROOM 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 MEMORIAL 
 
 the Class of 1901 
 
 founded by 
 
 HARLAN HOYT HORNER 
 
 and 
 
 HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/withtaskbeforemeOOileife 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
BOOKS BY VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 THREE RIVERS SOUTH 
 
 A Story of Young Abe Lincoln 
 
 THE BUFFALO TRACE 
 
 The Story of Abraham Lincoln's Ancestors 
 
 OUT OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Young Abe Lincoln Grows Up 
 
 WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Abraham Lincoln Leaves Springfield 
 
 MISSISSIPPI CALLING 
 
NOW LEAVE, NOT KNOWING WHEN, OR WHETHER EVER, I MAY RETURN . . . WITH A 
 TASK BEFORE ME GREATER THAN THAT WHICH RESTED UPON WASHINGTON." 
 
WITH A 
 TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Abraham Lincoln Leaves Springfield 
 
 BY 
 
 VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY MANNING DE V. LEE 
 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY • NEW YORK • 1958 
 
© I958 BY VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM 
 WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 58-645O 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 BY VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC., BINGHAMTON, N. Y. 
 

 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may re- 
 turn . . . with a task before me greater than that which 
 rested upon Washington." Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Lincoln himself was worried. Things were too quiet. . . . 
 Action . . . would certainly be better than this terrible 
 waiting 26 
 
 "I didn't think I heard you clear, but I reckon I did. . . . 
 Now," as the man stepped within reach of his long arms, 
 "say it again!" 27 
 
 Abraham Lincoln and Billy Greene slept in the store, their 
 heads pillowed on bolts of calico. . . . With a smoky tallow 
 candle . . . sometimes Abraham studied 58 
 
 In the backwoods of the Pecan Bottoms, people . . . came 
 outdoors hesitantly . . . half afraid of the strange white 
 monster 59 
 
 He grabbed Rowan's attacker by the baggy seat of his jeans and 
 the collar of his shirt and hoisted him suddenly into the air. 90 
 
 Silk made a sound which seldom or never had been heard be- 
 fore in New Salem. . . . No calico gown ever rustled like 
 that 91 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Peter Cartwright ... his broad face dark with fury . . . got 
 aboard his fat horse and gouged his heels into its well-padded 
 ribs 122 
 
 Squire Godbey, seeing him evidently wasting valuable time, 
 had asked what he was doing, if anything. "Why, I'm study- 
 ing law, Squire," Abraham had said placidly 123 
 
 "Mother," Judge Green called, "I don't know what ails him, 
 but Abe's mighty sick and clean out of his head, seems like! " 1 54 
 
 He rode his horse ahead, leaving Mary to cross the creek un- 
 attended. ... It was almost more than a woman could en- 
 dure 155 
 
 It was not a successful performance. She was too short for so 
 tall a partner, and he didn't know how to hold her properly. 186 
 
 There was one paralyzed moment in which each stared at the 
 other. Then, with a glad cry, Mary flung herself into the 
 long arms 187 
 
 vi 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 T 
 
 he spring night was warm around him, scented with blossoms 
 and alive with the small sounds of wild things abroad in the moon- 
 light. And over the leafing trees and the crab-apple flowers, over 
 the men huddled close to their campfires, fear laid its uneasy grip. 
 
 Captain Abraham Lincoln sat with his long arms wrapped around 
 his legs, knees hunched to his chin, and stared into the leaping 
 flames. Around him, other fires cast their ruddy glow upon the log 
 fort, upon the sober faces of several hundred volunteer soldiers. 
 He and his men said little. They were talked out, joked out, worn 
 out. 
 
 They had been together since the end of April, 1832, when 
 Governor Reynolds had called for the militia to protect citizens 
 from the attacks of Black Hawk and his Sac Indian warriors, who 
 were spreading terror throughout northern Illinois. But the eager 
 militia had seen no action, no fighting, no Indians. 
 
 By the night of May 14, the men were sick of each other's com- 
 pany; disgusted with the errand which had sent them slogging 
 through swamps; weary of sleeping in flimsy tents; cooking poor 
 food over a smoky fire; enduring a rainy spring. They were sick 
 of this war in which they were forever chasing after Indians they 
 never saw and never had a chance to fight. 
 
 Now, gathered around the evening campfires at Fort Dixon, be- 
 side the Rock River, on one of the first really fine nights since the 
 beginning of the Black Hawk War, the men were silenced under 
 the clammy hand of fear. Although the gleaming white moon and 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 the fragrant night and the glittering river were all so sweet, so 
 placid and so still, the men knew that something sinister was near, 
 and they were afraid. 
 
 Lincoln himself was worried. Things were too quiet. Just listen- 
 ing to the silence of the hills and the stars and watching that un- 
 canny, all-seeing moon made a small chill creep along his spine and 
 set up an unexplained faster beating of his heart. Action, actual 
 combat even, would certainly be better than this terrible waiting, 
 this not knowing what was going to happen, this ignorance of 
 what might be happening at that very moment to Major Stillman 
 and his soldiers. 
 
 Major Isaiah Stillman and a company of men had set off from 
 the main body of troops, with only four days' provisions, in a hope 
 of locating the Indians and surprising them — as if anyone could 
 surprise Black Hawk and his evil Winnebago associate, Wabo-kie- 
 shiek, who was called the Prophet! This was Black Hawk's home 
 country. He always seemed to know where the white men were; 
 always contrived to leave clues and signs as to where the Indians 
 could be found; and then, when the eager soldiers wearily arrived, 
 the prey had neatly vanished, but always left new depredations be- 
 hind. 
 
 It had been so ever since Black Hawk, the thin, Oriental-looking 
 war leader of the Sacs, in April, 1832, had crossed the Mississippi 
 back into Illinois from Iowa, whence he had been banished the 
 year before. He had been harassing the settlers, burning a house or 
 barn here, killing a man or stealing a horse there, then slipping away 
 before he and his people were caught. 
 
 Black Hawk was never a chief but he had conspired to make 
 trouble wherever he went. He had gathered around him other 
 warring Indians and had worked with the British to fight the 
 Americans during the War of 18 12. He had never lost his hatred 
 for the people who had usurped his land. Even though the United 
 States Government had made fair treaties with the Sacs, and their 
 annuities were generous and prompt, Black Hawk hated all Amer- 
 icans. 
 
 At Fort Dixon, the silence was growing quite unbearable 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 around the campfires. Songs which one or another of the men at- 
 tempted died of sheer lack of enthusiasm. A dog barked far off 
 and another answered, baying the moon. There was an owl calling 
 somewhere in the trees along the glittering river. A sharp splash in 
 the water alerted every man in the camp, and the pacing sentries, 
 muskets ready, whirled toward the sound. Heads turned, necks 
 stiffened, the small talk which had risen froze on lips. 
 
 But it was only a beaver. The soldiers could see its dark head 
 cleaving the water, the moonlight silvering the triangular wake 
 trailing behind. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln stood up. He stretched tall above his com- 
 panions. 
 
 "Well, I reckon it's about time to turn in, men," he said casually, 
 though he was not feeling at all casual. "If you can get Job Ram- 
 shaw here pried off his blanket and his trumpet warmed up, maybe 
 he can give us a bugle call to officially end the day." 
 
 "Don't you figure a bugle call would just attract attention to 
 our camp, Lincoln?" asked Travice Elmore timidly. He had been 
 hearing things all evening. "You can't tell how close them redskins 
 are to us this minute!" 
 
 "From what I've heard," said Lincoln grimly, still standing tall, 
 hands on hips, "Black Hawk knows exactly where we are at all 
 times, and a bugle tootling isn't going to tell him a thing. Go ahead, 
 Job; maybe it'll give us a little courage to last until morning!" 
 
 But the bugle call was mournful, and it cracked in the wrong 
 places. Job Ramshaw was scared. He couldn't tongue his notes 
 right; his lips felt dry and stiff; he gave up. In silence, the men 
 made ready to crawl into their tents and blankets. Watchful and 
 jittery, the sentries paced. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln could see Major Buckmaster in his tent, writ- 
 ing by candlelight, noted how he often raised his head sharply, as if 
 listening, and knew that he, too, was uneasy. Long after the others 
 had finally gone to sleep and Major Buckmaster 's candle was out, 
 the dogs still bayed the great white moon of May, the river still 
 glittered, the beaver still splashed, and Lincoln lay wide-awake. 
 
 3 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 The Indians were up to something. He knew it as well as if they 
 had told him themselves. Black Hawk was near, probably nearer 
 than anyone dreamed, yet there was no sign of anything nor any 
 suspicious noise or movement — but then, the Indians wouldn't be 
 noisy or give away their presence until they were ready to attack. 
 They would stealthily surround the camp, then charge upon the 
 unprepared soldiers. And then it would be too late. 
 
 The thought was chilling. Lincoln remembered stories his father 
 had told of the old days in Kentucky when folk were afraid to 
 sleep at night because of the Shawnees and their terrible raids. He 
 had thought that 1832 was far too distant from those frontier days 
 in the wilderness for the settlers to have need to dread the Indians 
 ever again. Men today, he felt, didn't seem to be as hardy as they 
 must have been in the more demanding past. They got scared more 
 easily. 
 
 Look at his own bunch, nervous as so many old women, home- 
 sick and complaining, afraid to go to sleep, afraid to walk behind 
 the rocks for fear of Indians lurking and too cowardly to go and 
 rout them out if they were there — well, not all his men. He had 
 plenty of good, brave fellows, he was sure, but a lot of them didn't 
 hold up so well in the face of suspense. Look at himself, jittery as a 
 cat and for no reason. 
 
 The owl called again, closer now, and he saw the dark shadow 
 of soundless wings flit across the moonlight and vanish in a clump 
 of trees. He wished morning would come. Moonlight was too mys- 
 terious for comfort, with all its glints and shadows and the strange 
 bits of unidentified, detached sound which seem to be part of such 
 a spring night. He tried to sleep, but it was no use. Something was 
 going to happen. He could feel it, but he didn't know what. . . . 
 
 But night passed. It was morning at last, a May day singing 
 with birds, fresh and fragrant and sparkling, as if evil could never 
 exist in the lovely Rock River country. Job Ramshaw blew his 
 bugle with vigor. 
 
 Breakfast was almost over when there was a disorganized clump- 
 ing of many horses and voices along the river trail. The men in 
 
 4 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 camp stopped what they were doing. Many paused in their eating, 
 stood up, tense. Some reached for their guns. 
 
 Stillman's men appeared, wild-eyed, incoherent, torn, wounded, 
 their horses lathered, dragging from exhaustion into camp. As 
 Abraham Lincoln saw them coming, the terrible worries of the 
 night before suddenly crystallized in certainty. It had happened. 
 He had known, they had all sensed it, though they couldn't have 
 told what it was nor where the menace lay. Black Hawk had struck 
 again! 
 
 Some of the newcomers were babbling. Others were stonily si- 
 lent. Their eyes did not focus, but seemed to be seeing with inner 
 horror some distant scene. 
 
 "Injuns!" one gasped, staring, repeating over and over without 
 expression, "Injuns! Run — run for — your lives! Run — for your 
 lives! Run—" 
 
 The men in camp paled and some were about to take the words 
 literally, when Major Buckmaster strode up, commanded order 
 and demanded the details. Meanwhile, more men came straggling 
 in, all coming from the direction Stillman's men had taken when 
 they had set out cockily four days earlier, to rout out Black Hawk 
 and his people, located to the north. 
 
 The soldiers were helped down from their trembling mounts, 
 which had been whipped unmercifully and not permitted to rest 
 along the trail. When they had been given food and drink, they 
 were better able to relate what had happened. 
 
 "It was awful, I tell you!" one cried, tears running unheeded 
 from his bloodshot eyes. "We was camped up along Sycamore 
 Creek yesterday. The rain had finally stopped, and we was all so 
 glad of that; it had been so wet we couldn't even have fires to cook 
 our dinners. But with the rain over, we got fires goin' and was 
 about to eat when suddenly, there was three Injuns right amongst 
 us, like as if they'd sprung up out of the earth! How they'd got 
 into the camp without nobody seein' them I do not know, but there 
 they was, and one had a white flag. That didn't make no differ- 
 ence to us, though. They was Injuns, and right amongst us! 
 
 5 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Every man there was scared and didn't know what to do, and 
 then someone commenced firin', and another did, too, and in the 
 mess two of the Injuns was killed. The other got away, and as he 
 pelted out of there in a gosh-awful hurry, somebody, I don't know 
 who, spied a row of five Injuns on horseback on the rim of the 
 hill. They was black against the sunset, watchin'." 
 
 "I was the one seen 'em first," another man put in. "And I tell 
 you, them five scared us worse than the three!" 
 
 "Them five must've been spies," the other went on determinedly. 
 "Anyways, them and the one that escaped must have gone on the 
 double to tell Black Hawk, who sure wasn't far away. It wasn't 
 till moonrise, though, that anything more happened. 
 
 "Then, suddenly, in the light of the moon, we seen a solid line 
 of Injuns advancin' along the hill towards the camp! Somebody 
 yelled 'Injuns! ' and someone else piped up with 'run for your lives! ' 
 and that done it. All of a sudden, we was in a pure panic, runnin' 
 every which-a-way, tramplin' down the ones that got in our path 
 and a-screechin' and a-hollerin'!" 
 
 "We didn't have no chance to do much," put in another man, 
 who had a bloody rag tied around his head. "The Injuns was on 
 top of us, shootin' and tomahawkin'. Don't know how many they 
 got; ain't took time to call the roll yet, I guess, but last I seen, there 
 was men fallin' back there in the moonlight and Injuns every- 
 where! " 
 
 "Did an Injun hit you with his tommy-hawk? Did he try to scalp 
 you, Billy?" asked one man, eying the bloody rag around the 
 other's head. 
 
 "Naw, 'twasn't no Injun hit me," the other said, a trifle sheep- 
 ishly. "I plumb rode agin a branch of a tree, back in the timber 
 when I was a-clearin' out, and it like to knocked me off my horse. 
 Cut a gash on my head, and I had to tie it up to keep the blood from 
 runnin' into my eyes whilst I rode." 
 
 "Oh," said the other, and looked meaningfully from one to 
 another of his companions who were listening to the recital of 
 the ignominious retreat. 
 
 "So you cleared out and ran and didn't go back to see if you 
 
 6 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 could help, eh?" put in Major Buckmaster quietly, but with an 
 ugly gleam in his eye. "That was real brave and noble of you boys. 
 How come you skinned out so fast? You got back here twice as 
 quickly as you went out! " 
 
 Nobody said anything. 
 
 "And where is Major Stillman?" demanded Buckmaster. "Well, 
 where is he?" 
 
 The silence grew more uncomfortable. One soldier, without 
 any ado, keeled over in a faint, and the men let him lie where he 
 fell. 
 
 Finally someone ventured, "Last I seen of him, he was in the 
 midst of the fightin', with Injuns all around him." 
 
 "So you saved your worthless hides, and your commander could 
 just take care of himself! If this was the regular army, you'd all 
 be court-martialed and shot where you stand! " 
 
 Buckmaster was saved from doing violence by the appearance 
 of Major Stillman himself and a group of the men who had stayed 
 with him to the end. They were weary, bloody and speechless for 
 a bit. Only their leader seemed to be in command of himself. 
 
 "Major," he said quietly to Buckmaster, "there's a bad mess 
 left back there on the battlefield. I'd just as soon not go back there 
 again. I've seen all I can take for a while, and my men, too — those 
 who fought and lived to come back. I'd appreciate it if you'd detail 
 a group to go out there and bury the dead, sir." 
 
 Abraham Lincoln and some of his company were chosen to go. 
 In silence they rode up the valley and crossed the river to the battle- 
 field, which now lay peaceful and sunny in the May daylight. A 
 dozen men were sprawled where they had fallen . . . nine in the 
 open meadow where last night's camp lay torn and disorganized; 
 three in the woods. In silence, the burial crew went about their 
 work. After the survivors had fled in panic, Black Hawk's men 
 had taken their time and had decapitated or had scalped each one 
 of the dead soldiers. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln felt deeply horrified. This was the real thing. 
 
 7 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 This was what his grandfather had known, back in the days when 
 the Shawnees were the fear of all the settlers in Kentucky, the 
 dread his grandmother had realized when she traveled the Wilder- 
 ness Road and the Buffalo Trace to make a home in the dangerous 
 country beyond the mountains. This was what the volunteer sol- 
 diers had not wanted to think or talk about when they joined the 
 Illinois militia back in Sangamo Town and Athens and Spring- 
 field and New Salem. 
 
 Silently, Lincoln helped to bury the dead. 
 
 Less than a month before, when Governor Reynolds' proclama- 
 tion was tacked on the wall of the post office in Sam Hill's store in 
 New Salem, Illinois, sixty-eight men had enlisted from that com- 
 munity, to rid the state of Indians. A good many of the men 
 entered the militia in a spirit of reckless and lighthearted bravado, 
 more to break the monotony of a wet spring coming at the end of 
 a long winter, than to be heroes. 
 
 "Let's make Lincoln captain and get up a company from here," 
 proposed burly Jack Armstrong, one of Abe Lincoln's staunchest 
 friends and supporters. "Who'll vote for Lincoln as captain?" 
 
 "Yay, yay, Abe Lincoln!" And at that moment it seemed like 
 a fairly unanimous vote. 
 
 "Reminds me of the fox who asked all the chickens to vote for 
 him, and it was a landslide in his favor," remarked Abraham drily. 
 "You get a mighty unanimous vote that way. Knowing I could 
 lick most of you in a fair fight, you probably figure you'd better 
 vote yes — or else!" 
 
 "No, no!" protested George Spears. "You're our man, and a 
 better captain we'd never find!" 
 
 "Well, we'll see," said the dubious new leader-elect. 
 
 It did not look quite so unanimous, however, next day at Rich- 
 land, a few miles southwest of New Salem, in central Illinois, when 
 the men from Clary's Clove, New Salem, Indian Point, Sugar Grove 
 and Sangamo Town gathered to enlist. William Kirkpatrick, who 
 owned a mill near the latter town, announced he would like the 
 
 8 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 job of captain, had his own men signed up and was willing to get 
 tough about it. He didn't fancy the way in which most of the crowd 
 accepted Lincoln as leader, right off without any vote or anything. 
 
 "Say, Kirkpatrick," drawled Jack Armstrong, spitting a great 
 arc of brown juice into the young pokeweeds. "We'd just about 
 decided amongst us to have Abe Lincoln here for our captain. If 
 you don't mind, we'd just as soon have him as someone else, namin' 
 no names." 
 
 William Kirkpatrick flushed. He easily located Abraham Lin- 
 coln's broad shoulders looming above the others. 
 
 "Well," Kirkpatrick began coldly. "After all, I don't see why — " 
 
 "No, I reckon you don't," broke in Armstrong impatiently. 
 "We don't want you for captain, Kirkpatrick, if I got to speak 
 plain, because of the way you done treated Lincoln here when he 
 did a job of work for you and you never paid him all he had comin' 
 to him. We know your reputation!" 
 
 "Let's vote on it!" suggested young William Greene and Bill 
 Berry together. The two were among Lincoln's best friends. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Lincoln stand here and Kirkpatrick there," said round-faced 
 Billy Greene. "Now, whoever wants to fight under Lincoln, stand 
 back of him, the others back of Kirkpatrick. The one with the 
 longest tail to his kite gets the job!" 
 
 There was a considerable flurry of jostling and laughing, and 
 when it was over, three-fourths of the men were standing in a 
 long queue behind Abraham Lincoln, while a mere scattering stood 
 uncomfortably behind William Kirkpatrick, who was thoroughly 
 out of humor. 
 
 Jack Armstrong grinned at Abraham Lincoln. There was a 
 strong majority look to the proceeding. It made Abraham feel 
 remarkably good, warm, happy and somehow secure, to see how 
 well liked he was and how his friends stood up for him. In politics, 
 a pursuit he had planned to follow before the Black Hawk War 
 came on and interrupted his high-flown notions, a vote like that 
 would put him over the top at any election. 
 
 At the same time, he had a disagreeable, cold sort of feeling 
 
 9 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 at the thought of how very little he knew about being an army 
 officer and captaining a company of men. Nothing he had known 
 in Indiana had fitted him for this, and very little of what he had 
 read gave him an inkling of the procedure. He didn't know the 
 first thing about issuing commands, and had his doubts, anyway, 
 as to how the men would obey if he did find his voice and pipe up 
 with an order. 
 
 He tried it out then, while he still had them lined up behind 
 him. 
 
 ''Company, fall in!" he shouted in his high-pitched voice, knock- 
 ing his moccasined heels together and straightening up. 
 
 "Aw, go to the devil!" replied Pleasant Armstrong casually, 
 and the men burst into a guffaw, slumping every which way and 
 looking about as little like a troop of militia as any group of men 
 Lincoln had ever seen. William Kirkpatrick laughed contemp- 
 tuously. 
 
 "You'll see that you've picked up a panther by the tail, sir," he 
 sneered, turning on his heel. "I wish you luck, but doubt if you'll 
 have much!" 
 
 Abraham flushed. He squared about and towered over his men 
 who were standing about or lounging on the grass, waiting to see 
 what he would do. 
 
 "Company, attention!" he barked. There was no nonsense or 
 indecision in his crisp voice. "Attention, I said," he snapped 
 sternly, "and I mean it. I can lick every blamed one of you," he 
 went on threateningly, "and I'll take on any man who can't get 
 his backbone straightened up to stand at attention in my company. 
 If we've got to go and fight Indians, I sure don't want to be ashamed 
 of the men I've got to lead. All right, now, when I say Attention, 
 stand up straight. Attention!" 
 
 He heard a couple of murmurs from dissenters, and received 
 black looks from several who didn't like to take orders from any 
 man, least of all that Abe Lincoln. But, somewhat urged by the 
 fire in Jack Armstrong's eyes, most of the men pulled themselves 
 together and, grinning self-consciously, stood at what they fancied 
 was attention. Abraham looked down the uneven ranks and sighed. 
 
 10 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 It would take more than threats to make that bunch of loungers into 
 a creditable company of soldiers, fit to tackle Indians. 
 
 "Well," he announced, not very hopefully. "I guess you can't 
 do any better right now and neither can I. But I sure hope I can 
 get all of us whipped into some sort of shape before we get up to 
 Fort Armstrong, where there're some real soldiers and real officers, 
 not to mention genuine Indians on the warpath. I do hope we aren't 
 the laughingstock of this whole business!" 
 
 II 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 T 
 
 1h 
 
 .he people of New Salem gathered along the broad and muddy 
 main street to wave good-bye to their men, who had assembled 
 on their horses. Even Lincoln had secured a mount by borrowing 
 one from Squire Bowling Green. 
 
 "What if something happens to it?" Abraham had asked. 
 
 "Well, you can just write it off as my contribution to freedom 
 and safety," answered Squire Green. "That horse can fight a better 
 war than I ever could, heavy as I am!" Bowling Green weighed 
 three hundred pounds and was troubled with shortness of breath. 
 
 Squire Green was on hand to wave farewell to the soldiers. So 
 were the Rutledges and the Berry s, the Greenes and the Camrons, 
 as well as little Doctor Allen, the Onstots and the Trents. Mentor 
 Graham, the schoolmaster, was in town, quite by happen-chance, 
 he declared. His few pupils, however, had not even shown up in 
 school that day; they wanted to see the soldiers leave for the war. 
 The eleven Camron girls and a quartet of Rutledge daughters 
 clustered in a pretty bevy on the steps of the Rutledge tavern, to 
 watch and wave. The young ladies were thrilled and excited by 
 the nobility of the young men who were riding off to war. 
 
 "More fuss and excitement than a new rooster in the chicken 
 house!" commented Royal Clary with some pleasure. 
 
 "Reminds me of the fellow who was about to start out for the 
 War of 1812," put in Lincoln, "and wasn't hankering much to 
 get into the fray, I guess. His sweetheart had lovingly embroidered 
 for him a fancy bullet pouch — embroidered bullet pouches being 
 
 12 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 so handy in the thick of battle! She had sewed on it the words 
 Victory or Death. But the soldier turned a trifle pale on observing 
 that lofty sentiment. 
 
 " 'Couldn't you make it a mite less final?' he suggested unhappily. 
 Maybe Victory or — or — Wounds? That'd give me a little more 
 leeway betwixt one and t'other!' " 
 
 Lincoln's listeners all laughed, but somewhat uneasily. 
 
 "Makes me think of all of us," he added with a wry grin. "All 
 keyed up to go off and fight, but hoping it won't be quite as bad 
 as we're afraid to think it will be. Makes us all figure we'd likely 
 faint at the sight of blood, especially our own! " 
 
 The men grinned uncertainly at Abraham, not sure of what he 
 was driving at and wishing they could be on their way with no 
 more fuss and talk. It was uncomfortable standing about like this 
 in the hill village above the Sangamon River, waiting for stragglers 
 to show up, trying to make a good account of themselves, but feel- 
 ing a little like fools with everyone looking on like that and spout- 
 ing advice. 
 
 The little boys, meanwhile, terribly envious of what their elders 
 were about to do and wishing they could go along and take a crack 
 at an Indian, too, punched each other and rolled in the mud. They 
 were somewhat absently scolded by their mothers or big sisters. 
 Yanked by the ears to an upright position, the boys stood still 
 briefly and uneasily to watch, in hideous envy, and then were at 
 it again. Some tagged along behind the troop as it finally set off. 
 
 "Company, attention! " barked Captain Abraham Lincoln in 
 commanding tones, which he had practiced down in Purkapile 
 Hollow all the afternoon before, and which brooked no such in- 
 solent reply as he'd gotten that first day when he became captain. 
 
 "For- ward march!" 
 
 And they were off — well, not marching, but riding. As the 
 column set out, Abraham Lincoln spied Denton Offutt, his em- 
 ployer, in a soiled shirt and velvet waistcoat which was somewhat 
 the worse for the pork gravy he had lately consumed. Mr. Offutt, 
 puffing a large cigar, was watching the parade in some amusement. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Offutt," called Abraham as he rode past. "I'll 
 
 *3 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 be back as soon as I can. I do hope you'll make out all right with 
 the store — this war sure can't last very long, so I'll be on hand to 
 sell your seed-corn when the time comes." 
 
 "Sure, sure, Lincoln," soothed Denton Offutt, cherishing his 
 cigar delicately between two grimy fingers in order to speak. 
 
 "I have my doubts as to whether I or my place of business will 
 even be here when you return from the field of war. Anyway, 
 that there seed-corn ain't first rate; rats got into it durin' the winter, 
 and I reckon it won't sell well. I have big plans, though, for a 
 project down in St. Louis, my boy. New Salem has proved too 
 small for a profitable venture . . . but be that as it may, good-bye, 
 son, and don't you run into no bloodthirsty redskins if you kin he'p 
 it!" 
 
 Denton Offutt laughed loudly. Abraham smiled weakly and 
 turned his attention to the company. Men and horses, with jingling 
 harness and the creak of saddle leather, took to the rutted road 
 toward Beardstown, forty miles away. Two days later they had 
 arrived in camp. 
 
 High water in the Illinois River had put half the river-front 
 shacks of Beardstown awash, but the higher country of the sand 
 dunes was dry enough for a camp. Captain Lincoln and his company 
 joined other captains and companies, all as raw, uneasy and un- 
 trained as his. They made him feel considerably better — or worse — 
 he figured, thinking of the colossal amount of ignorance and 
 headstrongness which lay encamped on the sandy, cactus-infested 
 acres outside Beardstown. 
 
 On April 28, 1832, while the prairie larks twittered in the sand 
 fields, Colonel John Hardin, Inspector General of Illinois, mustered 
 in the untrained ranks of new recruits. He assigned Abraham Lin- 
 coln and his company to the Fourth Regiment. 
 
 Abraham found his job one of the toughest, if one of the great- 
 est honor, he had ever known. To get any order or crispness out 
 of that company of his, besides, was an endless ordeal, and he had 
 so little time in which to do it. He was, also, impressed with his 
 own lamentable ignorance of army procedure. 
 
 14 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 At Beardstown, where they eamped for two days, he regularly 
 drilled his men, up and down, back and forth, dodging cactus 
 stickers and woodchuck burrows and early rattlesnakes. This 
 exercise was intended as much to keep the soldiers out of mischief 
 as to train them, and it helped him, besides, to remember the com- 
 mands he had to use. 
 
 It was when he was marching his men twenty abreast across the 
 hummocky sand fields that suddenly trouble loomed ahead. A 
 fence ... a gate opening into the next field ... a gate only 
 wide enough for no more than two persons to pass through at a 
 time. In the press of the moment, he couldn't think of what order 
 would get his men turned endwise, to march through in single 
 file. As the company, advancing at a more or less smart clip through 
 the loose sand and cactus plants, approached this bottleneck, he 
 was desperate. There was only one thing to do and he did it. 
 
 He wheeled to face them. 
 
 "Company, halt! This company is dismissed for two minutes. 
 At the end of that time, form ranks on the other side of the gate!" 
 
 Grinning, the men scattered, went through the gate, and re- 
 assembled the company. In considerable relief, Captain Lincoln 
 went on with his drill. 
 
 But there was little time for training men for the real job which 
 lay ahead. On April 30, the Fourth Regiment marched or rode 
 out of Beardstown and was ferried across the Illinois River, to 
 continue on the other shore, northwest. From the wet bottomlands, 
 where hordes of disturbed redwinged blackbirds got up, shrilling, 
 as the men rode the muddy trail bisecting the big swamp, they 
 reached higher ground at last. They were on their way north to 
 the Rock River and Black Hawk's country. 
 
 Supplies came by steamboat up the Mississippi to the mouth 
 of the Rock River. The boat was unloading when the new militia 
 from farther south, already sick of the monotony and weariness 
 of war, straggled in to make camp beside the river, opposite Black 
 Hawk's old village. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln was thankful they had arrived. He had had 
 
 J 5 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 a hard time keeping his unruly recruits from foraging for food 
 and plunder at farms which they passed and from shooting off 
 their muskets for the sheer joy of making a noise. Jack Armstrong, 
 as his first lieutenant, had helped him enforce rules and keep a de- 
 gree of order, but Lincoln felt as if he had been conducting a com- 
 pany of schoolboys on a spring outing, rather than a responsible 
 troop of militia out to subdue the Indians. 
 
 Several days after their arrival, however, it was Captain Lincoln 
 himself who was in disgrace. 
 
 It happened that a private in Captain Thomas McDow's com- 
 pany entered the officers' quarters one night. With the aid of a 
 hatchet and four buckets, and willingly assisted by some of the 
 Clary's Grove boys in Lincoln's company, the raiders succeeded 
 in breaking open whiskey barrels and in making off with a con- 
 siderable amount of strong drink. 
 
 At dawn, the bugles blew. The regiment was ordered out to 
 march up the Rock River in pursuit of the Indians who were ru- 
 mored to be lurking there. Action was evidently about to start, and 
 Abraham Lincoln, in a way, was glad, though apprehensive as to 
 how it would turn out. 
 
 A good many men in his company, however, couldn't stand up 
 straight or didn't make it out of their blankets at all that drizzling 
 spring morning. 
 
 Livid with rage, General Whiteside addressed himself to the 
 mortified and furious Lincoln, who was tugging futilely at the 
 delinquents who were still abed. 
 
 "Captain Lincoln!" barked the general wrathily, his bushy eye- 
 brows scowling down over his sharp gray eyes. "Your leader- 
 ship in this army is a pure disgrace! How do you expect your men 
 to face an Indian attack in this sodden condition? How do you 
 expect them to pursue wild, bloodthirsty savages and rid the land 
 of their menace? I ask you! As a penalty for permitting this thievery 
 and the drunken debauch in which these men have evidently in- 
 dulged, you are to wear the wooden sword for two days! With it 
 clapping you on the legs at every step, maybe you will be reminded 
 
 16 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 of your duties as an officer! .Captain — hah! — Lincoln, you are 
 dismissed! " 
 
 Somehow, the regiment set out. Captain Lincoln was grim, tight 
 of jaw, unhappy. The shameful wooden sword, the equivalent 
 of a dunce's cap in school, ignominiously knocked at his knees 
 until he mounted his horse, when it annoyed that animal excessively 
 by striking its flank as it set forth. 
 
 As the revelers, bleary-eyed and sick, began to sober up, they 
 realized something of what they had done. It had been all their 
 fault that Lincoln was disgraced like that and looked so gloomy. 
 He was having to pay up for their sins. 
 
 "He oughtn't to've been punished for what we done," muttered 
 Travice Elmore, wishing his head didn't ache so and his horse 
 didn't jounce so much as it walked. 
 
 "Naw, 'twasn't none of his fault what we done, and we got 
 to make it up to him somehow or another," added Royal Potter. 
 
 "Well, what you reckon we can do?" asked Pleasant Armstrong 
 sickly. 
 
 "We could act as much like good soldiers as we know how, 
 which sure ain't much," put in Potter soberly. "We could try, 
 anyways." 
 
 "Yeah, might be a good idea in more ways than one," Jack Arm- 
 strong commented acidly, from behind the speakers. "I'm warnin' 
 you, boys," he went on darkly, "if you cause Lincoln any more 
 trouble, you have me to answer to. And I can lick any one of you 
 singlehanded, drunk or sober, and mop up the floor with you after- 
 ward, and I'll do it if you don't treat him better. You hear?" 
 
 "We hear," said the others solemnly. 
 
 After that, Captain Lincoln was considerably surprised at what 
 a model company he had, barring a few slip-ups; how well they 
 marched, how well they acted, how quickly and even cheerfully 
 they took orders and assumed duties. He said nothing about it and 
 neither did the men, but Jack Armstrong had a satisfied gleam in 
 his eyes. They all knew they had to square things and this was the 
 best way to do it. 
 
 17 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 But everyone, good or bad, wished action would begin. Here 
 they were in the Indian country, near the evil Prophet's town, 
 from which he and his people had vanished, and no one caught a 
 glimpse of any Indian, much less had a chance to fire a shot at one. 
 For want of anything more exciting to do, the soldiers burned the 
 Prophet's village. Leaving the smouldering ruins, they continued 
 up Rock River, while the rain came down, day after day, and 
 drenched men and equipment. 
 
 And it was at this point of boredom that Major Stillman set 
 forth to rout out Black Hawk and put a little action into this 
 disappointing war. 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 A, 
 
 .FTER stillman's defeat, Governor Reynolds called for more 
 volunteers. Instead of a somewhat aimless pursuit of Black Hawk's 
 war band, the militia now tried desperately to catch up with the 
 Indians, who were said to be traveling up the Rock River to the 
 north. The militia followed that winding, beautiful stream as it 
 curved between hills and past great rock outcroppings. Upon these 
 and behind these, Indians could have lurked to pick off as many 
 of the unsuspecting soldiers as they had wished. 
 
 But Black Hawk and his people were not there. Knowing the 
 secret paths • through the forests and over the prairies, they had 
 no need of following the river route. Black Hawk's people were 
 taking the short cuts, the quick trails, heading toward the Missis- 
 sippi, while the white men were laboriously going the long way 
 around, making every bend of the bending river. Morale was very 
 low. 
 
 On a fine May morning, warm of sun and alive with the fresh- 
 ness of full-leafed spring, an old Potawatomi Indian limped into the 
 camp. No one noticed his approach. Soldiers, squatting on their 
 heels to cook their breakfasts over smoking little fires, were too 
 much engrossed with the coming food to pay much attention to 
 visitors. 
 
 One man, suddenly looking up, discovered the ragged old 
 Indian standing irresolutely near the flagpole. 
 
 "Good-gosh-a-mighty! " the soldier yelped, getting up so sud- 
 
 19 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 denly from his stooping position that his sizzling chunk of bacon 
 fell into the fire. "Look! An Injun! Get him, boys!" 
 
 "Injuns!" someone screeched unwisely. "Shoot him down be- 
 fore he gets us! " 
 
 The old man blanched. He fumbled, trembling, in his tattered 
 clothing, hunting frantically for a grimy, folded piece of paper. 
 Shaking, he stretched it forth, but no one paid any attention to 
 what he held. Over the camp, guns were being hastily loaded. 
 There was an ominous sound of hammers being cocked, when 
 Captain Lincoln discovered the situation and loped on long legs 
 to the side of the Indian. 
 
 He took the paper the man held out to him. The fear in the old 
 fellow's eyes reminded Abraham of a deer beset by wolves on the 
 ice. 
 
 The paper was a safe-conduct pass from General Lewis Cass. 
 
 "It's all right, men," Captain Lincoln reassured them. "You 
 don't have to worry. General Cass vouches for him. This is old 
 Wa-Pa-Qunt, the White Hare, on his way down to Fort Arm- 
 strong. Let him go." 
 
 "Not us!" spoke up one of the men belligerently, stepping for- 
 ward. "We been huntin' Injuns three weeks and ain't seen none 
 till now. He's a Injun, ain't he? Well, that's enough for me, ain't it 
 for you, men? The only good Injun's a dead one, and I aim to make 
 him mighty good in about two shakes. Stand out'n the way, Lin- 
 coln!" 
 
 Abraham Lincoln instead placed himself protectively in front 
 of the cowering Potawatomi. The captain was furious, his face 
 dark with anger, his big fists clenched. If there was anything that 
 riled him, it was injustice to the weak. 
 
 "Get out of the way yourself, Hank Rhoads, before I knock 
 you down where you stand! Haven't you got any sense of de- 
 cency? This is an old man, weak and helpless; he needs our help, 
 and you want to shoot him down just because he's an Indian! Put 
 up that musket, I tell you, and that applies to the rest of you hot- 
 heads, or by jing, I'll do it for you in a way you won't like! Un- 
 cock them, and fast!" 
 
 20 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "He's just foolin' you, Cap," one man assured Abraham, moving 
 in a little closer, musket ready. "That paper don't mean nothin\ 
 It's just a trick to find out our position and get through so we can 
 be attacked from the rear. Oh, I know them redskins. Can't trust 
 ary one of them! " 
 
 "I said put up your guns!" roared Lincoln, thoroughly out of 
 patience. "This man goes through our lines without harm!" 
 
 "You're a coward, Lincoln," sneered Jacob Stolzfuss, with an 
 ugly look, thrusting out his shaggy lower jaw. "Yellow clean 
 through! " 
 
 "Just step over here a minute, will you, Jake?" said Abraham, 
 deceptively calm. "That's it, over here. I didn't think I heard you 
 clear, but I reckon I did, at that. Now," as the man stepped within 
 reach of those long arms, "say it again!" he cried and knocked 
 down the surprised Jacob. 
 
 "Any more of you boys who think I'm a coward can walk up 
 now and we'll settle it," said Lincoln gently, dusting his hands on 
 his breeches. 
 
 "That ain't no fair fight," objected Parmeneas Conway. "You 
 got a longer reach, stand taller 'n' got more strength. You can't 
 prove nothin' thataway." 
 
 "Can't I? "Abraham smiled, waiting. 
 
 No one seemed very eager to find out. Lincoln stood with the 
 old Indian, who had grown more calm in the protective shadow of 
 his champion's bulk and power. 
 
 "Well, that takes care of the matter, I reckon," concluded Lin- 
 coln cheerfully. "White Flare stays to breakfast, and then he goes, 
 and nobody hurts, scares, insults or otherwise molests him. You 
 hear?" 
 
 There was considerable muttering, but the guns were uncocked 
 and put down. 
 
 "Only chance we get to take a good crack at a Injun and Lin- 
 coln won't let us," he heard muttered around. 
 
 "Oh, shut up!" snapped Jack Armstrong, tightening his own fists 
 in full view. "What Lincoln says goes, and I'll back him up like I 
 expect you to do. Now git! Eat breakfast and you'll feel better." 
 
 21 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 All of this, however, did not help morale in the camp nor among 
 other battalions where the same trouble was rampant. The month's 
 enlistment for which most of the men felt they had signed up was 
 coming to an end, and although they were expected to reenlist for 
 the duration of the war, few were inclined to do so. 
 
 "We want to go home!" spoke up Royal Clary one night after 
 a long, futile day of mud-slogging and mosquitoes. "The food is 
 rotten, the tents leak, our clothes are always damp and never dry 
 out between one day's march and the next. Besides, our horses are 
 ailin' and a lot have died, and the government ain't givin' us any 
 replacements. We've had enough!" 
 
 "And we want to go now! This here rain is no good for marchin' 
 or ridin'! My fields is goin' to need plowin' and plantin' right soon 
 now, if it ever drains off, and I'm goin' home to do it! " 
 
 "So are we!" chorused half a dozen others. "This is a crazy kind 
 of life, chasin' Injuns we never get a squint at, much less a shot!" 
 
 "You'll go home when you're mustered out proper!" snapped 
 Abraham Lincoln, out of patience with the eternal grumbling he 
 had been enduring. Secretly, he rather wished that he, too, might 
 have a chance to go back to New Salem, where he would have a 
 roof over his head, a bed at night and three good meals a day, as 
 well as some dry, mended clothes and shoes. 
 
 "When General Whiteside gets here, you tell your troubles to 
 him!" 
 
 But before the complaints of the volunteers could be attended 
 to, Black Hawk struck again, and hard. 
 
 One night he held counsel with his war leaders and certain 
 members of the Potawatomis and Winnebagoes, who agreed to 
 help him in a mass attack upon the whites. The leaders sat in the 
 counsel ring, their dark faces lit from below by the fire they 
 circled, and nodded in aquiline agreement — all but short, broad- 
 faced, honest Shabbona, a Potawatomi. 
 
 Shabbona had been a friend of the white people for a long time 
 and he had been well treated by them. Must he, he wondered des- 
 perately, revert to the old ways, or would he be able to save his 
 friends? Tumultuous and conflicting thoughts tumbled through 
 
 22 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Shabbona's mind as he quietly got up and left the meeting. He 
 believed he went undetected, but Black Hawk's keen eyes noted 
 his absence, and with a gesture, he sent several of his Sac warriors 
 to trail the Potawatomi. But Shabbona, stopping only to enlist 
 the help of his son, Py-pes, had a head start. 
 
 The two Indians, on horses, set off to warn the scattered settle- 
 ments. Hampered though the two were, with scarcely any knowl- 
 edge of English, and constantly aware that, as Indians, they were 
 likely to be shot first and questioned later, they nevertheless rode, 
 like a pair of dark-skinned Paul Reveres, through the night. They 
 galloped up to farmhouses, pounded on doors, somehow made the 
 startled inhabitants understand that Black Hawk was coming . . . 
 Black Hawk was coming . . . and the settlers, in terror, hurried 
 to the newly built forts . . . and waited. 
 
 On Indian Creek, the Davis family felt that the danger was over- 
 dramatized. There had been so many false alarms. They were 
 tired of running whenever anyone cried, "Black Hawk!" They 
 stayed, and nothing happened. 
 
 Meanwhile, several families who had fled to Ottawa, Illinois, 
 for safety decided to come back to their homes. On their way, 
 they gathered with the Davises over night. There were fifteen 
 people in this cabin, and by their very numbers they felt safe. 
 But Shabbona's son, passing in the vicinity, discovered a large 
 number of Black Hawk's men camping inconspicuously nearby, 
 ready for an assault when the time was right and the signal given. 
 The young Indian hastened to the Davis cabin to urge the people to 
 go to Ottawa for their lives, but the men felt they could hold off 
 an attack, should one come, which they doubted. Besides, they 
 hated to go off and leave the farm and livestock to the mercy of 
 Indian or thief. They stayed. 
 
 But the Sacs and Foxes were closing in. They were slipping 
 through the woods, sliding from tree to tree, circling the cabin in 
 the oak clearing. Suddenly, a dog at the Davises' began a frantic 
 barking, which changed to an agonized howl as a tomahawk, flung 
 at its head, split its skull. 
 
 23 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Mrs. Davis, looking out, screamed: 
 
 "They've come! Indians! They're here!" 
 
 It was too late then to do anything. The young children were 
 picked up by the feet and slammed against stumps. Women and 
 men were slaughtered and scalped. Thirteen people died in the 
 massacre. 
 
 Young Rachael Hall, who was fifteen, and her pretty sister, 
 Sylvia, seventeen, in horror watched their parents and family slain. 
 They, however, were not harmed, but were taken as captives by 
 the Indians who hustled them along through the woods when the 
 slaughter was over. Long afterward, when they were rescued, it 
 was they who told all the terrible details of the Indian Creek 
 massacre. 
 
 If Stillman's defeat had unnerved the already pretty badly 
 demoralized troops, the news from Indian Creek was the final 
 straw. The men definitely did not want any part of such a danger- 
 ous business. They wanted to go home. Major Buckmaster was 
 downright disgusted with the complaining. He had been finding 
 it in all the regiments sent to protect the settlers. 
 
 "By the Lord Harry!" he fumed. "You enlisted for thirty days, 
 but you are expected to re-enlist for the duration of this war! 
 You think you can cut and run just because war is too strong for 
 your weak stomachs! Yes, I'll muster you out, you flabby back- 
 sliders, and I'd like to do it at the end of a bayonet, you lazy, shame- 
 less excuses for soldiers!" Buckmaster ranted. 
 
 "The whole of northern Illinois and Michigan Territory could 
 be overrun with Indians and the settlers killed in their beds, and 
 all you'd do would be to whine to go home! Well, go home, and 
 I hope you sleep well at night, thinking back on what you've done 
 for your country. Think of the bloody scalps of women and chil- 
 dren. I hope the thoughts give you pleasant dreams!" 
 
 Before the men were allowed to go, however, the officers grimly 
 searched them for plunder taken from Indian towns along the 
 way. At Paw Paw village, they had found scalps taken from Still- 
 man's men. Some of the soldiers had joyfully confiscated this loot, 
 
 24 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 hiding the grim trophies in their packsacks. The latter however, 
 were searched and the men were relieved of all their loot before 
 being permitted to depart. Governor Reynolds himself, on the 
 field, taking chances and hardships with the rest, in disgust and 
 grief watched a large portion of his Illinois militia go righteously 
 homeward. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln and a good many of the New Salem men 
 stayed. Abraham, however, was now devoid of a company to com- 
 mand. He re-enlisted as a private under Captain Elijah lies. Here 
 he was thrown into the companionship of tall, handsome, dashing 
 John Todd Stuart, a rising young lawyer of Springfield, Illinois, 
 who somehow took an immediate fancy to the roughly dressed, 
 honest-eyed fellow from New Salem. Abraham could hardly see 
 why the aristocratic John Stuart would enjoy his company. Stuart 
 came of a wealthy Kentucky family and was college-educated, 
 but that didn't seem to prevent his affection for the self-taught 
 Lincoln, who also came from Kentucky, though there all similarity 
 of background ended abruptly. Abraham shrugged. If it didn't 
 matter to Stuart, it surely didn't matter to Lincoln. 
 
 Lincoln and Stuart set off with a newly enlivened army in a 
 continued aimless pursuit of the Indians. The militia traveled north 
 to the lead mines country at Galena, where fear of an attack was 
 rampant after the Indian Creek tragedy. On their return, still not 
 finding the enemy, the troops were in time to clean up after the 
 Kellogg's Creek massacre. 
 
 Once again, Abraham Lincoln had to help bury men who had 
 been scalped and mutilated by the Indians, while the turkey buz- 
 zards circled, waiting, or came down boldly to the dead horses. 
 
 Now that the army was in earnest about his capture, Black Hawk 
 changed his apparently pointless striking and running and headed 
 northwest. At once, General Atkinson ordered troops to abandon 
 the futile chase and hurry directly up the Mississippi, to head off 
 Black Hawk before he should cross the river and escape. 
 
 Abraham, his shoes pretty badly worn out, was up at Lake 
 
 2 5 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Koshkonong, in Wisconsin. It was early in July and he had been 
 chasing Indians and not seeing any live ones ever since the end 
 of April. 
 
 With the pursuit closing in, although the whole disturbance 
 was not to end until the bloody Battle of Bad Ax, a month later, 
 General Atkinson suddenly decided to muster out part of the 
 scattered army. Food and supplies were scarce, and it was im- 
 possible to maintain so large a force without better support and 
 more money. Consequently, to his secret delight, Abraham Lincoln 
 and the men in his company were honorably mustered out. 
 
 He woke, the morning after, with a grand feeling of freedom 
 in his heart. He was going home, home to New Salem, home to 
 the people he had grown to love. 
 
 Abraham scrambled out of his tent and stretched in the crisp 
 morning air. He went over to the shore of shining Lake Koshko- 
 nong, where the yellow-headed blackbirds clattered. He squatted 
 on his heels and doused the cold, clear water on his face. Back 
 in his tent, he looked about for his shoes. They were tattered and 
 uncomfortable, but at least they still somewhat protected his feet. 
 There was a long way to go ahead of him, almost three hundred 
 miles south to New Salem. 
 
 The shoes, however, seemed to be missing. He searched, puzzled. 
 They were too battered for anyone else to want them. Then he 
 discovered the vanished footgear at last, between the paws of a 
 slumbering camp dog. The animal had pretty thoroughly com- 
 pleted their demolition by chewing and worrying them. Sadly, 
 Abraham did not even try to retrieve them. From what he could see 
 in their final ruin, they would do little to protect his feet any more. 
 Well, at least he would be able to ride home. 
 
 But his lean and bony horse, borrowed from Squire Green of 
 New Salem, seemed to be missing too. So were some of the other 
 horses. Evidently certain men, departing expediently in the night, 
 had taken with them whatever they needed, well before anyone 
 was awake to detect the theft. 
 
 The other men were up now, stretching, groaning at having to 
 
 26 
 
LINCOLN HIMSELF WAS WORRIED. THINGS WERE TOO QUIET. . . . ACTION . 
 CERTAINLY BE BETTER THAN THIS TERRIBLE WAITING. 
 
 . WOULD 
 

 DIDN'T THINK I HEARD YOU CLEAR, BUT I RECKON I DID. . . . NOW," AS THE MAN 
 
 STEPPED WITHIN REACH OF HIS LONG ARMS, SAY IT AGAIN! 
 
 I" 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 face another day, but cheered by the prospect of home. 
 
 "Have you seen my horse, Jerry?" Abraham asked a friend, 
 who was vigorously scratching himself through his dirty shirt. 
 
 "Horse? No, why would I see your horse — oh, you mean, it's 
 missin'? Heck, no, I ain't seen your horse, I been asleep, though 
 how ary man kin sleep on ground as hard as that, with all them 
 rocks in it, and all them mosquitoes, ants and ticks crawlin' and 
 bitin', I can't see. Your horse gone?" 
 
 "Seems like," said Abe soberly. 
 
 "What's the trouble, Lincoln?" asked John Stuart, already im- 
 peccably shaved and dressed, wearing shoes which still had good 
 soles, trousers which came neatly down to where they were sup- 
 posed to come and a clean shirt. But Stuart was quality, even if 
 he did hail from Springfield. Knowing John Stuart had been a 
 bright light in an otherwise pretty dreary campaign, Abraham 
 Lincoln felt. Stuart had promised to do something for him if he 
 ever wanted to go into the practice of law. 
 
 Abraham looked up from where he was trying to tie some pieces 
 of canvas around his big, bare, cold feet; his socks were long since 
 worn out. He had stony ground and a long trip ahead. 
 
 "Nothing much, Stuart," he said cheerfully, though he did not 
 feel so gay. "My horse has gone on a vacation and that delightful 
 dog there has made a meal of what was left of my shoes. Not that 
 he got much nourishment from them, I'm sure, since I'd already 
 walked holes in the soles and uppers, but I might have made out 
 with them a mile or two." 
 
 "Why, Lincoln, I'm sorry about that!" Stuart was genuinely 
 distressed. "I wish I had a pair you could use, but my feet, well, 
 you can see that my shoes would scarcely fit you ... I can let 
 you have money, though." 
 
 "No place to buy shoes, Stuart, if I had the cash to lay down. 
 No, don't worry. I've walked before and walk I shall again. See 
 you in Springfield — some day!" 
 
 "I'll walk with you, Lincoln, if you want company," put in 
 George Harrison ruefully. "Seems as if my horse has gone off, 
 too, so if you think I can keep up, I'll go a way with you." 
 
 27 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Hold on a minute," spoke up Stuart. "If we all start out together, 
 you men without horses can ride a while and some of the others 
 can walk. We'll take turns. Do us good, and that way you won't 
 have to walk all that distance!" 
 
 "Well, say, Stuart, that's handsome of you!" Lincoln smiled at 
 his friend and extended his hand. "We'll do that, if you all don't 
 object. At least until we get down to the Illinois River. Once there, 
 we can take to the water and ride the rest of the way by boat." 
 
 Consequently, swapping rides, the two made it to Peru on the 
 Illinois. The horsemen waved their farewells, while Harrison and 
 Lincoln raked up enough cash money between them to buy a heavy 
 old cottonwood-log canoe, in which they proposed to go down- 
 stream. 
 
 Paddling, however, was a tedious business. In July, the river 
 was low, green and leisurely, in no hurry to go anywhere. To 
 save time and perhaps get a little farther, the pair remained some- 
 what uncomfortably in the canoe all night and let their craft drift, 
 but by next morning they were often still within sight of some 
 point which they remembered having passed the day before. Poling, 
 paddling, they made it a little faster, enough to stir up the water 
 a bit, anyway. 
 
 One day about noon, they caught up with a big lumber raft. 
 It was drifting slowly with what current there seemed to be in 
 the crawling, torpid, green river, which was like slow soup on the 
 hot July day. Beds of lotuses in the shallows steamed in the heat, 
 the big yellow flowers open wide, some dropping their heavy 
 petals, their fragrance rising almost sickeningly in the humid heat. 
 Great blue herons, squawking, got up from the mud flats and 
 flapped heavily away as the two craft neared. 
 
 The crew on the raft hailed the pair in the canoe. 
 
 "Hi! Where you bound?" 
 
 "Oh, Havana, maybe, or Beardstown. Where you bound?" 
 
 "St. Louis, if we ever get there on a river like this. Stay in one 
 place for days, likely, if we didn't shove a little. You et dinner 
 yet?" the raftsman added. People always seemed to think of food 
 when they took a good look at Abraham Lincoln's lank length, 
 lean face and hungry countenance. 
 
 28 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "No, we sure haven't," said Harrison briefly, trying not to seem 
 too eager. A fragrant smoke was rising from a sand box on the raft. 
 Dinner was obviously in the air. 
 
 "Neither have we, but we're about to. Got plenty. Tie on and 
 come aboard and eat with us." 
 
 It took no time at all for the pair to tether the canoe to a cleat 
 and scramble on to the broad expanse of the lumber raft, which 
 had come down from the forests of the upper Illinois. The food 
 was wonderful to the two men who had subsisted on their own 
 cooking of meager camp fare for more than two months. Hot, 
 crisp cornbread with butter melting into it, boiled sweet corn, 
 fried catfish sizzling in bacon fat, coffee and raw onions strong 
 enough to make you reel. It was a feast to put new heart into the 
 two. Food could make all the difference between melancholy and 
 hope, between despair and ambition. Right now, Lincoln felt he 
 could use a little hope and ambition. He was going back to New 
 Salem, to no job and no visible prospects. 
 
 He wiped his mouth as he finished his fourth ear of corn and 
 pitched the cob into the river. 
 
 "That was mighty tasty! " he exclaimed. "I reckon the only time 
 I ever turned against food, though," he went on, "was the day 
 I was invited' to take supper over at the Elmores', near New Salem. 
 They were having side meat and sauerkraut, which I relish toler- 
 ably well, but when I forked into it and dredged up a long piece 
 of blue yarn, I got kind of confused. I didn't know whether I 
 ought to swallow it politely or dispose of the thing as inconspicu- 
 ously as possible, so as not to hurt the cook's feelings. But Mrs. 
 Elmore spied it, and she just laughed. Nothing ever bothers Jemima 
 Elmore!" 
 
 " 'Oh, I see you've found a piece of string in your dinner, Abe,' 
 she tittered. She's a great one to titter. 'Now don't you fret a mite. 
 That's just a strand of Clara's stockin' that she had on when we 
 made kraut. Must of come unraveled-like whilst Clara was trampin' 
 the cabbage into the churn we keep it in! ' 
 
 "Yes, I kind of lost my appetite after that, just casting my mind 
 back a little at big, fat, greasy Clara and wondering when those 
 stockings of hers had been washed last — or Clara, for that matter! " 
 
 29 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 With stories and with reminiscences of the war, the pair came 
 with the raft to Havana. Once more they got into the canoe and 
 paddled to a sandy shore baking in the sun. A swarm of blood- 
 thirsty mosquitoes met them as they landed. A big snapping turtle, 
 almost as large as a washtub, opened its whitish mouth and hissed 
 angrily and nastily at them as the creature waddled awkwardly out 
 of the way and plunged into the water. It had been champing on 
 a dead carp whose mangled remains steamed fetidly in the sun- 
 shine. Close by lay a polished Indian ax. George Harrison nudged 
 it with his toe. 
 
 "Indians been here, seems like," he commented. 
 
 "I'd just as soon forget the Indians for a while," said Abraham 
 firmly. The vision of scalped men still stayed with him, especially 
 at night. 
 
 Although Abraham Lincoln did not exactly return a hero, he 
 felt good to be back. It was a trifle embarrassing, however, to arrive 
 as he did, a lone private with no shoes, only some old moccasins 
 one of the raftsmen had given him, when he had nobly ridden 
 off as a well-shod captain at the head of a troop of men only two 
 months before. Nearly all of those who had enlisted in April were 
 back ahead of him. A good many thought Lincoln had been killed; 
 hadn't seen him or heard any word of him in weeks. 
 
 "Did you have a big time fightin' them Injuns, Abe?" quavered 
 old Enos Short, who had fought in the Revolution. His palsied 
 hands clung to his cane. 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Short," said Abraham solemnly, as he leaned 
 against the shady side of Sam Hill's store. "I could say I fought 
 and bled for my country, and, after all, what more can any soldier 
 say? I wasn't at Stillman's defeat, but I must admit I saw the place 
 all too soon afterward! I reckon I didn't break my sword in com- 
 bat, because I hadn't one to break, and wasn't in any combat, either, 
 but I recall I bent a musket pretty badly on one occasion by drop- 
 ping it on the rocks. I may not have had the honor of leading a 
 charge on old Black Hawk, but I sure headed a good many fierce 
 and hungry assaults upon the wild onions!" 
 
 30 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Did you see ary Injuns, Abe?" asked Mr. Short wistfully, only 
 half hearing, remembering the days when there was an Indian 
 hiding behind almost any bush you could mention, and you had 
 to watch out for them day and night. 
 
 "Well, no, I'm mighty glad to say I didn't see any live, fighting 
 Indians, Mr. Short, only one very old and scared one," he went on 
 with a smile twinkling in his eyes. "But I reckon I had a good many 
 bloody encounters with the mosquitoes, and though I'll admit I 
 never fainted from loss of blood, there were times there when 1 
 was mighty hungry ... as I am now. Mrs. Graham, ma'am," he 
 turned to address that lady, who had come to the store, "do you 
 suppose there might be an extra plate at your table tonight?" 
 
 Sarah Graham's cornflower eyes snapped beneath level black 
 brows. She could quell any man with those eyes and with a brisk 
 application of her acid tongue, but her words were surprisingly 
 gentle, considering her disposition. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Lincoln, I was just about to suggest it myself. It'll 
 be a fine honor for us to have you come to supper, and you might 
 as well stay all night, too. Haven't had a chance to hear all your 
 news, and Mentor'll be glad of a chance to gab with you till all 
 hours. Reckon that'll keep me awake, but mayhap I'll just stay 
 up to listen, too. Almira and Minerva have missed you, little though 
 they are. They keep pesterin' me — 'when's Mr. Lincoln comin' 
 back, Mammy?' They do relish the stories you tell them and the 
 little knickknacks you bring." 
 
 Abraham smiled warmly at the tall, thin woman in her neatly 
 handmade gown and her broadly scooped, fashionable bonnet with 
 the pale blue flowers perched high on the brim, and long ribbons 
 tied under her chin. Poor though the Grahams often were, Sarah 
 always dressed well. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am, I'll be there and gladly. Haven't had any 
 cooking that could touch yours since I left home. Home! That's 
 a downright heartening word, isn't it? It's good to be back. You 
 tell the little girls I'll be there soon, and I have some little odd- 
 ments for them!" 
 
 3i 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 E 
 
 Iver since that July day a year earlier, when Abraham Lincoln 
 had come hopefully down the Sangamon River to take a job at 
 New Salem, Illinois, his roots had been set in the earth of that hill- 
 top. He was twenty-two and on his own at last. He had piloted 
 Denton Offutt's loaded flatboat of produce down to New Orleans 
 earlier that year, had contrived to by-pass danger and the menaces 
 of three rivers, the Sangamon, the Illinois and the Mississippi, to 
 deliver his cargo. The big boat had caught on the dam at New 
 Salem when the water had begun to drop, and the great craft, 
 loaded with pork and hogs, corn and whiskey, could not clear the 
 log pilings of the dam. The flatboat had had to be unloaded and 
 finally floated off, but not before boat and crew had spent almost 
 twenty-four hours in the New Salem neighborhood and had im- 
 pressed their varied personalities upon its people. 
 
 Offutt, rotund, talkative and a heavy drinker, in particular had 
 been much pleased with New Salem's favorable situation on the 
 top of a high, wooded hill, above the curving Sangamon River. 
 This place, a shopping and business point for a wide surrounding 
 area, was just beginning to attract settlers. It held promise of rapid 
 and permanent growth. To profit by this, Denton Offutt had vowed 
 to return and set up a business on the hill. 
 
 New Salem had come into existence in 1829, when John Camron, 
 a Cumberland Presbyterian minister, and his uncle, James Rutledge, 
 up from South Carolina by way of Kentucky, built a combination 
 
 32 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 sawmill and grist mill on the river below the then uninhabited hill. 
 People who came to have their corn ground into meal or their 
 logs sawed into rough planks for floors of cabins which were spring- 
 ing up in Illinois clearings, often hailed from so far away that they 
 could not get back home that night. This was especially true when 
 there was a crowd, and the miller had to take his customers by 
 turns. In the busy season, when the mill hummed and the mill- 
 stones ground and champed at the hard yellow corn, and the saw 
 grated like a huge locust buzzing stridently into the air, men camped 
 on the hillside. Their horses were tethered nearby, and boys went 
 swimming or fishing while they waited. 
 
 There was a great need for a place of lodging, a place, as well, 
 to buy food and drink. Consequently, James Rutledge and his 
 sons enlarged the log house on the hilltop, built earlier just for the 
 big Rutledge family, and made it available as the Rutledge Tavern. 
 
 Some of the transient guests were much attracted by the situa- 
 tion of the town. 
 
 "It's safe from floods," they said, "and high enough above the 
 bottoms to be clear of bad air." 
 
 "The woods're full of good timber; lots of maple and oak and 
 some of the biggest walnut I've ever laid eyes on." 
 
 "Good open country to the west, too. If they just get some 
 decent roads laid, or else open up that river for steamboats, this 
 place'd be perfect for a town." 
 
 People began moving here and building log houses. James Rut- 
 ledge and John Camron, both deeply religious men, named their 
 village New Salem for its biblical significance; Salem was the ancient 
 name of Jerusalem. The two hoped that the new site might become 
 a New Jerusalem of godly living in the west. 
 
 Rutledge had the area surveyed and the town platted; the lots 
 were numbered and many soon were sold. Houses were arranged 
 along a broad main street, which extended from the edge of the 
 bluff to the west. Bluff and road formed an L-shape where the 
 hill angled, like a boomerang, just above the river. At this point, 
 the road descended to the river itself, to the mill and to the roads 
 to Havana, northward, and to Springfield, southeastward. 
 
 33 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 It was on this eminence, just before the road dipped, that William 
 Clary, in order to supply the need for strong drink which pioneer 
 men felt and usually demanded, opened a grocery, which was just 
 another name for a grog shop. He carried the usual homemade 
 whiskey, distilled from the surplus corn crop each year; he also 
 sold the more expensive and tasty rye whiskey, called Old Mo- 
 nongahela, as well as spirits of sugar cane, labeled tafia, and some- 
 times a rare keg of rum, up from the West Indies via New Orleans 
 and the Mississippi. 
 
 It was close to this place of business that Denton Offutt planned 
 to build his store and fill it with merchandise, foods and seed-corn 
 from St. Louis. He would be in competition not so much with 
 William Clary, who sold mostly liquid refreshment and attracted 
 the toughs of the neighborhood, but with Samuel Hill and John 
 McNeil, already the richest men in town, who had the best stocked 
 store. Besides, there was Reuben Radford's store near Hill's, and 
 Rowan Herndon's store, in partnership with William Berry, across 
 the street. 
 
 On a summer day in 183 1, a steamboat up from New Orleans 
 discharged three men at the St. Louis landing. One of the three 
 was Denton Offutt, who remained in that busy city to arrange for 
 goods for his new store. The others, Abraham Lincoln and Jack 
 Johnston, his young stepbrother, were ferried across the river to 
 the Illinois shore, from which point they set off to walk to what 
 was now home — the place where Thomas Lincoln and his family 
 had moved in Coles County. 
 
 The Winter of the Deep Snow had been too much for Tom Lin- 
 coln. If Illinois winters were all like that, he figured, they weren't 
 for him, no matter if the land was rich enough to grow cornstalks 
 like oak trees. He'd take the south. But he'd had enough of south- 
 ern Indiana, too. Fourteen years of fighting the yellow clay of an 
 Indiana hilltop and of watching his topsoil wash down Pigeon 
 Creek after every rain, had taken a lot out of Tom Lincoln. He 
 was an old man now — he felt old, which was worse than having 
 had fifty-three birthdays — and he wanted to take it easy. 
 
 34 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 On the advice of folk who claimed they knew what they were 
 talking about, the Lincolns packed up their few belongings from 
 the cabin they had built, with John Hanks' help, on the crest above 
 the Sangamon River, west of Decatur. They migrated south to 
 Coles County, Illinois, to more yellow clay and to fields which the 
 orange broom sedge rapidly reclaimed if a farmer was not too 
 diligent with the plow and harrow. 
 
 There Tom Lincoln put up another cabin. It was very much 
 like all the rest he had built. Sarah Lincoln, patiently and with 
 resignation, set up housekeeping. She was thankful that she at least 
 had a plank floor and glass panes in her windows, though there 
 was not much else in the two-room cabin except the furniture 
 which she had brought to her marriage with Tom Lincoln in 1819. 
 When the boys came back from their flatboat trip, they would have 
 a longer way to go, and that on foot, unless they rode with someone 
 going to Vincennes or New Harmony. 
 
 But Abe Lincoln and fair-haired, lazy Jack Johnston, following 
 the National Road and then turning north, walked the whole way 
 across the state, from St. Louis to Tom Lincoln's house. 
 
 They had to ask the direction several times, for although they 
 knew the general location, they were not certain just where it 
 was that their father had settled. 
 
 They found him sitting and dozing in the shade on the north 
 side of the cabin. Sarah, at the sound of voices, hastily came to 
 the door, wiping her work-roughened hands on her apron. She 
 tried to gather both boys into one great, loving embrace. Abe 
 picked his stepmother off the ground and held her out to look at 
 for a moment, then kissed her with a vigor which warmed her 
 through and through and set her cap awry. 
 
 "H'lo, Maw," said Jack briefly, going into the cabin. "Got some- 
 thin' to eat? I'm hungry! " 
 
 "Tell us about your trip, Abe," said Sarah, casting a sad glance 
 toward her unresponsive son. "We've thought of you so often, and 
 there were times, I declare, I had the most awful feelin' I'd never 
 see you again, either one! Were you ever in danger; did aught 
 happen to harm you?" 
 
 35 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Abraham looked at his stepmother. He was recollecting certain 
 moments when he and the crew of the flatboat had indeed been 
 in considerable difficulty on that journey down three rivers south 
 to the rambunctious city of New Orleans. He remembered how 
 he had rescued Jack from the hang-out of river pirates, and of 
 several other incidents . . . 
 
 "Well, yes, Mother," he answered slowly, "there were a couple 
 of times I had my doubts we'd make it, but we did. We sure did — 
 and here we are to prove it! " 
 
 "Yes, Son," said Sarah Lincoln softly. "I prayed and prayed, 
 especially when I had a feeling — well, I knew that something 
 was wrong, and I just prayed harder and the Lord listened, and 
 here you are, praise be! Now come in, supper's nigh ready, and 
 I know you're both hungry as bears. We can talk whilst we eat." 
 
 "Not me," grunted Tom Lincoln, heaving himself out of the 
 splint chair. Groaning with a crick in his back, he carried his chair 
 to the table. "When I'm eatin', I don't want no jawin'. Can't eat 
 and talk, too, both at once, and get any good out of ary one. We'll 
 eat first, then hear what them rascals has to say, if they's anythin' 
 worth listenin' to, which I have my doubts of." 
 
 Abraham didn't stay long with his folks. It no longer felt much 
 like home. Dennis Hanks and his family were living by themselves 
 at last, and so were Levi and Matilda Hall and their young ones. 
 There was plenty of room in the Lincoln cabin now. But Abraham 
 Lincoln had that widened horizon, that broader view, which came 
 from extensive travel, from seeing how other people lived and 
 thought and did. Home seemed narrower and more cramped, his 
 father more intolerable and intolerant than he ever had been before, 
 which was saying a good deal. Abe felt that he himself had simply 
 cracked out of his shell like a young bird and could never climb 
 back in. The world was before him, and the broom sedge uplands 
 of Coles County, Illinois, were only a small and uninspiring part 
 of it, already seen and now ready to be discarded. 
 
 "I got me a job of work over to New Salem," Abraham an- 
 nounced one sultry day. "I promised to show up there by the end 
 
 36 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 of July," he added, waiting to see the reaction. There was little. 
 
 Tom grunted. "Well, what's keepin' you, then? You're a man 
 growed, and if you're ever a-goin' to make ary thing of yourself, 
 you better get at it afore you're an old man like me and good for 
 nothin'! When I was your age, I already owned property and 
 horses. 
 
 "I'd have thought, though," Tom Lincoln went on in com- 
 plaining tones, "that you'd-a got work closter to home, but that's 
 like the young fellers nowadays. No thought of their parents that've 
 give all to raise 'em up. No gratitude left these days." 
 
 "Oh, now, Tom," put in Sarah placatively, laying a hand on his 
 sleeve. "You've done the best you could, and Abraham's grateful, 
 I know he is. But he's got to get out in the world and make a livin' 
 at what he finds is best for him. There's naught around here. Abe's 
 got to take his chance where he gets it, and this New Salem, I 
 hear tell, has a big future. You go, Son," she added lovingly, but 
 wistfully, "though land knows I'll miss you like as if I'd lost my 
 right arm or somethin'!" 
 
 "I'll try to come back often, Mother," he told her, seeing how 
 worn her face was, how tired she looked, though her eyes were 
 blue as ever and as full of life and love. "And as soon as I possibly 
 can, I'll send you some money. As long as I live, you'll never want, 
 if I can help it!" 
 
 "It won't matter about the money, Son," said Sarah quietly, 
 in a low voice, looking up at him and taking his hands in hers, 
 tightly, "just so's you come back sometimes and let me look at 
 you." 
 
 "I promise," said Abe Lincoln, smiling down at her. 
 
 It was almost like coming home to reach New Salem again. There 
 was considerable excitement in the village, but not about the new- 
 comer. He arrived inconspicuously and found a place to board at 
 John Camron's house, since the tavern itself was full. There were 
 eleven girls at the Camrons', but not one of them seemed very 
 much impressed with the tall young man with his sun-browned 
 skin, hands thrusting too far out of his sleeves and pants legs not 
 
 37 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 meeting his moccasins. He felt they liked him; most people did, 
 he had discovered, but they laughed a little at him, too. He was 
 just as glad they let him alone; girls somehow made him uneasy and 
 were alarming when they paid too much attention to him. Not 
 that he had had much chance for that, he admitted ruefully to 
 himself in his loft bed, listening to the laughter of all those girls 
 downstairs and wondering if it was he that so amused them. Might 
 be, he admitted. But then, he guessed maybe it was better to amuse 
 people than make them angry. Somehow the laughter gave him 
 a lonely feeling, though. 
 
 The excitement in the village was over the annual election. It 
 was coming up in a few days, on August i, 183 1. Abraham was 
 immediately gathered up in the talk and argument about the values 
 of the candidates, which flowed back and forth. He registered 
 his name and on the big day he voted in John Camron's house. It 
 was the first time in his life that Abraham had cast a vote, and the 
 act made him feel thoroughly grown up at last, a man among men. 
 He confidently voted for Edward Coles for congressman and 
 for Bowling Green of New Salem for magistrate, and for Jack 
 Armstrong and Henry Sinco for constables. He had only casually 
 met several of the candidates, but voted anyway. 
 
 He hung around the polls early and stayed late. He was interested 
 and spoke intelligently; he spiced the day with humorous stories. 
 Mentor Graham, the dour-faced, red-haired schoolmaster who 
 was clerk, finally asked him to help out. 
 
 "Can you write, sir?" he asked the tall youth, not having much 
 hope of an affirmative reply from one as rough-looking and crude 
 as this one. 
 
 "Well, yes, sir, I guess I can, somewhat," Abe admitted. 
 
 He demonstrated his penmanship, which was good and clear 
 and readable, quite unlike a great deal of handwriting the school- 
 master had seen. The latter was visibly impressed. 
 
 "Where did you learn such excellent penmanship, Mr. Lincoln?" 
 
 "Well, I — I guess it just came naturally, as you might say," Abra- 
 ham stumbled over his answer, hating to admit his meager educa- 
 
 38 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 tional background, but realizing he might as well and get it over 
 with early in the game. "I've had only about a year or so of school- 
 ing in all. I went by littles, whenever there was a teacher in the 
 neighborhood and money to pay him. But I always practiced hard 
 on handwriting and spelling and such like, so I guess it'll pass." 
 
 "I should say it will! You sit here and record the names and 
 votes for me while I go home and see how my wife is doing. She 
 was ailing this morning, and I hated leaving." 
 
 Mentor Graham was not absent for very long, but Abraham 
 Lincoln meanwhile had taken over the job of clerk with consider- 
 able relish and a fine flourish of the goosequill pen which elicited 
 much admiration from the loungers at the polls. Abraham wondered 
 briefly why John McNeil, partner over at Sam Hill's store, a very 
 rich and influential young man who was engaged to Ann, one of 
 the Rutledge girls, neither registered nor voted. Lincoln kept 
 his questions to himself. He liked to talk, but he could also be as 
 closemouthed as if he had eaten a green persimmon. It didn't be- 
 hoove a newcomer to pry, but it did look funny, somehow. All 
 the other men over twenty-one in New Salem and round about 
 had registered and had come in proudly to cast their votes. But 
 not John McNeil. 
 
 39 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 A 
 
 s usual, Denton Offutt was behind schedule. He had told 
 Abraham Lincoln to be at New Salem promptly by the first day 
 of August, so that he could start clerking in his store. Not only 
 did August first come and go without any sign of Mr. Offutt on 
 the horizon, but there were no goods for the store. As a matter 
 of fact, there was no store, either. That was the way it had been 
 when he had hired Abe to pilot a flatboat down the rivers, and the 
 young pilot had found that he had to build a boat before he could 
 be a riverman! 
 
 When Denton Offutt and his ox-carts of merchandise finally 
 arrived on the bluff, the goods had to be stored while Abe and 
 young William Green squared off some logs and built a structure 
 very much like William Clary's grocery store nearby. Clary sourly 
 eyed the proceeding. 
 
 "Might at least have left me some elbowroom," he grumbled 
 to the portly Denton Offutt, who was strutting about, his coat 
 off in the heat, his untidy white ruffled shirt damp with perspiration 
 and his suspenders running off purple on it, "and not've crowded 
 in on me like this! You got the whole of Illinois to build a store in; 
 why put it on top of me, I'd like to know?" 
 
 Denton Offutt beamed. "Well, now, sir," he stated pompously. 
 "I figured this was a right favorable spot, as you might say. It's 
 just up the hill from the mill and river and all, not to mention handy 
 to the Springfield road and the Athens and Sangamo Town trade. 
 With just your grocery here sellin' drinks, folk'll think it's not 
 
 40 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 much use to climb all the way up and maybe not find what else 
 they may fancy to buy and need mighty bad. But with two places, 
 why, what they don't locate in one, they'll find in t'other, without 
 the bother of traipsin' clear up the road to the other stores. Ain't 
 that so, sir?" 
 
 William Clary didn't agree with this long-winded explanation. 
 
 "I don't favor it none," was all he would say. He stalked back 
 into the dark grocery, where the aroma of whiskey and hard cider 
 and persimmon beer was acrid on the air. 
 
 Jack Armstrong, hunched over the counter, a brooding look 
 on his face, was silently drinking Old Monongahela. Armstrong 
 was from Clary's Grove, west of town. He gave the impression of 
 size, though he was not a tall man. Armstrong had broad, power- 
 ful shoulders; he was massive and very strong, a leader of the 
 Clary's Grove boys. 
 
 "Mad, ain't you?" he remarked noncommittally. 
 
 "Enough to make a body think of clearin' out, I declare it is!" 
 exclaimed William Clary fiercely, slamming his big, hairy hand 
 down hard on the counter, while the whang of mallets on pegs 
 and the crunch of log on log came through the open door. Flies 
 buzzed dizzily around the bung of a whiskey barrel. 
 
 "Give that Offutt enough rope, he'll shore hang himself," con- 
 soled Armstrong. "I've seen the like of him before. You wait. He 
 won't last. And as for that limber-legged grasshopper of a helper 
 of his — though you can't hardly call him a helper, seein' he's doin' 
 all the work, with Slicky Bill easin* off on the lighter end of things 
 — well, we'll take care of him. Old Offutt's already braggin' his 
 fool head off about how strong that Lincoln is, and how smart." 
 
 "Yeah, I know," agreed Clary acidly. "I heard him. Reckon 
 folk all the way to Sandridge heard him, way he rants." 
 
 "Well, me and my buddies'll just take care of that Lincoln, and 
 he won't stay to bother long!" 
 
 The store built and stocked, Abraham Lincoln had a job he liked. 
 Presiding behind a counter, when there were customers handy, 
 was much to his liking. Unhappily, there were not many of these. 
 
 4i 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 During the slack periods, however, he could always improve the 
 time by reading. It embarrassed him to hear Mr. Offutt brag 
 about his, Lincoln's personal prowess. 
 
 "I tell you, my friends, this here Lincoln's the smartest feller 
 you ever seen. That boy sure wasn't behind the door when they 
 rattled the shucks! Besides, he's the strongest feller in all of Illinois 
 — in the Middle West, I might even say and not exaggerate a mite," 
 stout Mr. Offutt would spout grandly. "Bring on your champions 
 of New Salem and round about, and my man'll lick every one of 
 'em, quicker'n a catfish kin skin a minner! " 
 
 "Oh, now, Mr. Offutt," Abe would protest in the middle of 
 weighing out sugar or cutting off a twist of dog-leg. 
 
 "I'm right, I'm right," Denton Offutt would insist, downing 
 another deep swig of Old Monongahela or applejack, whichever 
 was handiest. "Bring 'em on, we'll take on all comers!" 
 
 "We'll take 'em on," fumed Abe, burning at the way the little 
 man was rapidly courting trouble. "Oh, yes, we'll fight all comers, 
 but who'll be the one that gets the knocks?" 
 
 "You got to watch out for that bunch of Clary's Grove boys," 
 warned Judge Bowling Green. "Look what they did to old Jem 
 Jordan last week. He was dead drunk, and they nailed him up in a 
 barrel and rolled him down the hill, almost to the river. It's a pure 
 wonder Jem lived through it, the barrel smashing against a tree 
 and all, but maybe he was so drunk he didn't know what was 
 happening. Anyway, you got to watch out for that gang, Lincoln. 
 They're dangerous as a bunch of rattlesnakes on a hot day. Don't 
 you go out of your way to make them mad. They think up enough 
 deviltry without provoking them to more!" 
 
 One warm September day, when the hitching rack beside Clary's 
 store was lined with horses stamping dust and switching their tails 
 at flies, Jack Armstrong and some of his friends and relations from 
 Clary's Grove (which amounted to the same thing because nearly 
 everyone out there was kin to everyone else) got together in the 
 matter. 
 
 "I've had all I can stand of that little fightin' cock of an Offutt. 
 
 42 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Let's take on his baby and lay him out once and for all, and then 
 maybe we can have some peace. I'm sick and tired of hearin' nothin' 
 but how wonderful this feller Lincoln is. Come on!" 
 
 The Clary's Grove boys, few of whom were much less than six 
 feet tall, men who were broad in the shoulders, narrow of hip, dark 
 bearded and keen-eyed, guns handy and fists mighty, stalked out of 
 Clary's grocery and across the dust to Offutt's store. 
 
 "You, Lincoln," spoke up brawny Jack Armstrong, shortest in 
 stature of the group, lounging with a deceptive casualness in the 
 doorway. Abraham, squinting at the light, looked at him. 
 
 "Sure, what you want, Jack?" 
 
 "I want you, Lincoln," said Jack Armstrong levelly, scowling 
 at Abe's amiable face. "I'm mortal tired hearin' how all-fired strong 
 you are. I'll concede maybe you're smarter'n me at books, but I 
 aim to prove I'm stronger and always will be. Come out and fight." 
 
 "I'm working," said Abraham, but he got up from the puncheon 
 stool, just the same. 
 
 "Yeah, looks like," sneered Armstrong. "Sittin' down with your 
 nose into a book the whole endurin' time. It's plain to see you ain't 
 got many customers. Well, when you think you ain't too busy nor 
 too afeared, come out and I'll take you on, no holds barred!" 
 
 In a fury, Abraham put down his book. The pages, left alone, 
 slowly flipped over and over until his place was quite lost. He 
 hitched up his pants around his lean hips, rubbed his hands on the 
 seat of his worn jeans and stalked out into the glare of the Septem- 
 ber afternoon. 
 
 At wind of a fight, a crowd was already gathering. It was largely 
 composed of the rough, tough and mighty Clary's Grove boys, 
 their bearded jaws working slowly around and around on cuds of 
 tobacco, their eyes scornful, cold and watchful. 
 
 "I bet you ten dollars my man can beat yours," declared William 
 Clary to Denton OfFutt, who was delighted at the prospect of a 
 fight — so long as he himself was not in it. 
 
 "Taken!" cried Ofiutt, and put down a ten-dollar gold piece 
 beside Clary's sum. Ten dollars was a lot of money. The men 
 
 43 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 eyed it with some respect and awe. A number of lesser bets were 
 laid down, involving small coins, whiskey, knives and such. One 
 man wagered his horse that Jack Armstrong would win hands 
 down. 
 
 Young Slicky Bill Greene, his round face flushed with excite- 
 ment, jiggled from one foot to the other, scared yet eager for the 
 fight to start. He had been hired by Offutt to tell Lincoln whose 
 credit was good and who couldn't be trusted to owe money. He 
 admired and liked Abe Lincoln. In his own mind, he knew that 
 Abe could lick anyone, no matter how strong, even the invincible 
 Jack Armstrong. He had never actually seen Lincoln lick any- 
 body, and he had only Denton Offutt's bragging to prove it — that, 
 and Abe's own powerful arms and back, his hard muscles tough- 
 ened by years of ax-swinging and hard work, and by his own calm 
 sense of power. They were excellent convincers. Nevertheless, 
 Billy Greene was as nervous as a wasp in locust time. 
 
 Stripped to the waist, their chest muscles and arms taut, the two 
 men circled, stepping like cats, watching for an opening. Then, 
 with a rush, Jack Armstrong closed in to grapple. Abe gripped Jack 
 with a grasp like nothing the latter had ever known. Armstrong 
 tried to get a crotch hold and failed, tried eye-gouging and ear- 
 biting and missed. He was rapidly getting bested. Then, in des- 
 peration, he brought his heel down hard on Lincoln's instep. 
 
 At this sudden agonizing spurt of pain, Abraham, in fury, lifted 
 his opponent in the air. Kicking and flailing, Jack Armstrong felt 
 himself lifted higher, higher ... by the man who could carry 
 a chicken shed across Josiah Crawford's barn lot . . . by the man 
 who could heft a covered wagon out of a mud hole ... by the 
 man who could shove a flatboat off a Mississippi snag . . . and 
 was flung full length. 
 
 Lincoln, panting, hands on hips, legs spread, his foot still a flame 
 of pain, watched. Jack Armstrong didn't get his breath back at 
 once. He lay there, gasping like a stranded catfish. 
 
 The Clary's Grove boys, at the downfall of their champion, 
 gave a concerted howl of wrath. 
 
 "Foul!" they screamed. "Lincoln pulled a foul! Get him, men!" 
 
 44 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 They closed in on Abraham.- He was backed against the wall 
 of the store and stood at bay. 
 
 "That was no foul!" roared Abe, thoroughly aroused. His usually 
 placid disposition quite lost in the unnecessary battle, he knocked 
 about him with his fists, holding the attackers at arm's length. 
 
 "Come at me one at a time and I'll lay you out! Come on like 
 real men — I'll take you singly, not in a mob! " 
 
 The men retreated a few steps. Jack Armstrong, meanwhile, 
 slowly gathered himself together, shook his head several times, 
 as if to clear it, and stood on his feet, swaying a bit but still power- 
 ful. He faced Abe, who had no takers on the one-at-a-time 
 business. 
 
 Suddenly, with a grin, Jack Armstrong strode toward his op- 
 ponent, hand outstretched. 
 
 "Shake, Lincoln!" he said cordially. "I never yet found a man 
 could lay me out, and you done it like I was a sack of middlin's. 
 Any man can lay me out like that, I got to admire him. Anyway, 
 I fouled you, and I apologize." 
 
 Abraham's big hand shot out, and he gripped Jack's calloused 
 paw. 
 
 "You're as strong as I am," he vowed. "Another minute and 
 you'd have done the same to me. I declare this match a draw, and 
 all bets called off!" 
 
 The crowd, suddenly affable, yelled and threw hats into the 
 air. Jack and Abe grinned companionably at each other, friends 
 forever. As the two strongest men and best fighters of New Salem 
 shook hands on a hot, dry, dusty September day, Denton OfTutt 
 and William Clary took back their bets, silently and with no com- 
 ment. 
 
 In Jack Armstrong and the Clary's Grove boys, Abraham Lin- 
 coln found unswervingly sturdy backing and faithful friends. 
 Their attitude toward him was an odd one and it embarrassed 
 him no little. They accepted him as their physical equal, yet seemed 
 to feel he was different from themselves. He was kind and gentle, 
 yet strong as the strongest and supreme in a fight. In a profane 
 
 45 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 period, he used no profanity. In a time of heavy drinking, he 
 touched no liquor. Instead of ridiculing these traits, as they did 
 in the case of most of the earnest members of the Temperance 
 Society, which was trying to combat the evils of strong drink in 
 New Salem, they felt astonishingly protective and even fatherly 
 toward Lincoln. The Clary's Grove boys vowed they would de- 
 fend him against all enemies and accusers, would rally to his cause 
 whenever he needed help. It had all started there on the hilltop 
 after that fight with Jack Armstrong. In a way, Abe was rather 
 glad it had happened. 
 
 As winter again dropped snow on New Salem hill and the drifts 
 heaped high, so that folk feared a repetition of the dreadful Winter 
 of the Deep Snow, it was beginning to be obvious that the Oifutt 
 store was not going to be a thriving concern. 
 
 The Herndon-Berry store, down on main street of New Salem 
 was doing a better business than Offutt's, and so was Reuben Rad- 
 ford, who had taken over the Chrisman store. But it was Sam Hill, 
 in partnership with John McNeil, who was the most prosperous 
 from the very beginning. Hill managed to stay that way while 
 other businesses failed about him like flies in the first frost. Even 
 when McNeil sold out and went East, Hill's prosperity continued. 
 
 Abraham was little disturbed by the scanty business which came 
 to Offutt's store. He was merely a clerk, and a poorly paid one 
 at that. Small trade to Lincoln simply meant more time in which 
 to read. There were far more books available in New Salem than 
 in any place in which he had lived before, and Mentor Graham, 
 the schoolmaster, was helping him, nights, on things he didn't 
 understand. 
 
 Denton Offutt often was away on some mysterious business 
 of his own. Abraham Lincoln and Billy Greene slept in the store, 
 their heads pillowed on bolts of calico, a buffalo robe spread over 
 towsacks filled with cornshucks under them, and another buffalo 
 hide over them. The two talked long into the night. With a smoky 
 tallow candle, or by the light of the fire only, sometimes Abraham 
 studied from Kirkham's Grammar, which Mentor Graham had 
 
 4 6 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 suggested he borrow from John C. Vance. 
 
 There was only one copy of this priceless book in New Salem, 
 and that was the one from which Graham taught his advanced 
 pupils who were preparing for college, so that he could not very 
 well loan it out. Getting wind of that other copy, Abe set off and 
 walked six miles out over the prairie to borrow it. He had his nose 
 in his prize almost all the way back home again, fascinated yet 
 appalled by what he read. There was so confounded much he didn't 
 know! 
 
 It had all come about because Mentor Graham had been arguing 
 with Lincoln about education. 
 
 "Reckon I have enough learning for anything I'm ever likely 
 to do," said Abraham, in a fit of melancholy, complaining about 
 the futility of existence. 
 
 "No, you have not!" contradicted the peppery schoolmaster, 
 who seldom smiled, almost never laughed, but whose grim exterior 
 hid one of the kindest hearts in Sangamon County. 
 
 "You need mathematics, and you need a bout with a speller, 
 and most of all you need to learn grammar. You'll have to learn 
 how to think out your sentences so that they sound best and make 
 the clearest impression on your hearers. Don't use two words when 
 one will do. Get the true meaning, Lincoln, and then work until 
 you express it most effectively." 
 
 "Well, but—" 
 
 "Don't interrupt, I'm not finished," snapped Graham, glaring 
 at him from under reddish eyebrows. Abraham subsided. 
 
 "It seems to me," went on the schoolmaster, "that you ought to 
 get a public position of some sort. If you do, you'll need better 
 diction than you have now. You're full of a backwoods twang, 
 and you use expressions which are all right in a place like New 
 Salem, but not out in the world. You do get on well with people. 
 I hear that folk come to you to write out legal documents and 
 papers for them. But you can express yourself better than you do; 
 you'll just have to study more. I'll help you." 
 
 So Abraham studied. He found grammar amazingly interesting, 
 
 47 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 but at times extraordinarily difficult. Sentences had a way of getting 
 tangled, words of getting misspelled, phrases of getting misplaced. 
 After a bout of parsing sentences and memorizing verbs and nouns, 
 he'd hand the book to nineteen-year-old Billy Greene, who was 
 planning to go to the new Illinois College soon, and it was Billy 
 who asked questions while Abraham recited. 
 
 Sometimes Lincoln had a long and wonderful evening over 
 at Mentor Graham's big brick house, reviewing what he'd learned, 
 philosophizing, talking — talking until tart Mrs. Graham reminded 
 them for the dozenth time that it was late enough to stop their 
 eternal clacking. 
 
 Abraham got hold of books of higher mathematics. His analytical 
 mind delighted in the order and reason revealed behind the laws 
 of the universe. He devoured these books as if they were food, 
 as if he were starving . . . and looked for more. 
 
 No matter if he had so few months of formal schooling; his 
 mind was ready for bigger things and he felt he could not get 
 enough. He took in history and Shakespeare by the volume and 
 ground his way through the spelling book until he knew most of 
 it by heart. He read Thomas Paine's Age of Reason and The Rights 
 of Man, and felt his mind fermenting with new thoughts and the ex- 
 citement of a new philosophy as Paine conceived it. 
 
 It was an exhilarating way in which to spend a long, cold, snowy- 
 winter, with not much business coming to the store. Lincoln joined 
 the Debating Society and attended meetings of the Temperance 
 Society, which the intellectuals of the community — young Doctor 
 Allen, James Rutledge, John Camron, the Reverend John Berry, 
 Judge Bowling Green, Mentor Graham and several others — 
 fostered and brought into being. 
 
 By this select group, the rough exterior and awkward ways of 
 the newcomer were made welcome. They expected him to get up 
 and tell funny stories, but when he gave his first speech before 
 the Debating Society, the critical audience was considerably sur- 
 prised, all but Mentor Graham, who knew Lincoln's capabilities. 
 Abraham had worked on his speech for some time and hoped he 
 would give a good account of himself. His nervousness, however, 
 
 4 8 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 melted away when he got started. He thereupon presented a well- 
 thought-out, logical argument for the improvement of the rivers, 
 a pet subject. 
 
 After that, his new friends in the Debating Society made plenty 
 of opportunities for Abraham to speak. That winter, they discussed 
 not only river improvements and President Jackson's trouble with 
 the national bank, but went into the touchy subject of the abolition 
 of slavery and the annexation of territories as states, and whether 
 or not slavery should be permitted in the new districts. The affairs 
 of the nation were argued out and settled in the comfortable log 
 cabins of New Salem in the winter of 1831-32. They might not 
 have actually settled anything, but Abraham felt that he was learn- 
 ing how to talk better in front of people, how to organize his 
 thoughts and not get flustered. If for nobody else, he figured, the 
 winter with the Debating Society was of tremendous value to him, 
 at least. 
 
 49 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 I 
 
 n January, 1832, a letter reached the postmaster of Springfield. 
 It had come all the way from Cincinnati by the mail stage and it 
 was from Vincent Bogue, who owned a mill on the Sangamon 
 River. This river, Bogue declared, was an ample and neglected 
 artery of trade, connecting the midlands with the Illinois and 
 Mississippi Rivers. He proposed to bring a steamboat down the 
 Ohio to the Mississippi, up the Mississippi to the Illinois, and up 
 the Illinois to the mouth of the Sangamon, thence to navigate as 
 far on that stream as was feasible, probably to his own Bogue's 
 Landing, near Springfield. 
 
 "I shall deliver freight from St. Louis to the landing on the 
 Sangamon River, opposite the town of Springfield, for 37% cents 
 for a hundred pounds!" This was less than half the rate charged 
 for hauling freight on land. 
 
 News of low freight rates; steamboats coming up the Sangamon; 
 direct connection with ports of America — and Springfield, New 
 Salem, Sangamo Town and other Sangamon County communities 
 suddenly were electrified at the prospect of what the future held 
 for them. 
 
 "They'll need men to clear the river so's a steamboat can navi- 
 gate," commented Jack Kelso. "Just think, it'll pass New Salem, 
 if the water is high enough so it can clear the dam. I never could 
 see any sense in damming navigable streams, anyway, even though 
 it does make better fishing. I should think James Rutledge would've 
 
 50 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 had better sense. With the water high, though, I reckon they'll 
 make it." 
 
 "I'd sure admire to be one of those to clear the way," mused 
 Abraham Lincoln in a pleasant glow of anticipation. 
 
 It had been his dream, ever since he spoke at the Fourth of July 
 celebration in Decatur, two years before, to find a way to make 
 the Sangamon River navigable. It was a long enough stream, ram- 
 bling far inland from the Illinois and connected by means of that 
 stream with the whole vast Mississippi Valley and the trade routes 
 from the East Coast, not to mention all the Ohio River trade. 
 
 But the Sangamon was a river of extremes. It was quite often 
 miserably low in summer, iced in winter, and it had more than its 
 share of snags, sandbars, overhanging branches, trees fallen into 
 the water and multiple twists, turns, forks and violent eddies. 
 Again, it could be very broad, deep, full and smooth. 
 
 A big steamboat could not be expected to navigate such a stream, 
 but a small-to-medium one could. If only the coming steamboat, 
 the Talisman, were not too big! And so, for two months, Abraham 
 Lincoln dreamed about a steamboat coming up the Sangamon 
 River, opening the land to new trade, new life and new adventure. 
 Everyone in the valley knew a growing excitement. Steamboat 
 trade would bring reliable transportation into a land which, during 
 much of the year, was often impassable, with mud roads or none 
 at all. The world was coming to the doorsteps of cabins in the 
 back country of Illinois! 
 
 On the strength of this prospect, new settlers came into the area. 
 New towns were hastily laid out. Land values tripled overnight. 
 Merchants in small towns of the valley began to advertise the fine 
 merchandise they were about to offer to eager customers, and 
 farmers were planning to send produce to market at a cost of less 
 than half that of land travel. Meanwhile, the Sangamon Valley, 
 together with Abraham Lincoln and Vincent Bogue — the latter 
 having sunk all his money and much of his creditors' cash in the 
 venture — anxiously waited for the snow to go off and the ice to 
 break up in the river. 
 
 With the brown waters still partly frozen, but with bluebirds 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 11 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 caroling in the glossy carmine twigs of the willows and the breath 
 of spring in the air, the Talisman arrived at Beardstown. Ten 
 miles upstream from this port, the Sangamon was riding high with 
 foaming melt-water from the hills. 
 
 At the mouth of the Sangamon, where the willows were awash 
 in the high water, the steamboat was met by a flatboat-load of 
 men from Springfield and New Salem — Washington lies, Thomas 
 Neale, Edmund Taylor, Abraham Lincoln and others, all equipped 
 with long axes, enthusiasm and muscles. They had drifted down 
 the river, breaking through the remaining ice, cutting branches 
 from overhanging maples and sycamores, chopping out snags and 
 letting them float free. It was hard work, especially clearing away 
 shoals which lay across the river and were all but invisible beneath 
 the surface. 
 
 The Talisman was ready to start. Her chimneys gushed black 
 smoke, the engines thudded and roared, steam hissed, bells rang, 
 roustabouts called back and forth. The river-clearing crew, tri- 
 umphantly aboard the steamboat, watched dozens of enthusiastic 
 men and boys, afoot or on horseback, follow a distance along 
 the tangled banks as the steamboat slowly, very slowly, made 
 her cautious way into the river. 
 
 In the backwoods of the Pecan Bottoms, people living in crude 
 shacks and in giant hollow sycamore logs came outdoors hesitantly, 
 like wild creatures, half afraid of the strange white monster shoving 
 noisily up the river. Many of them had never seen a steamboat be- 
 fore and shuddered at its smoke and foam and size and noise. A 
 big craft painted white — at least she looked mighty big on the 
 Sangamon — the sidewheels smacking the water — it was a marvelous 
 sight! 
 
 But the uneasy pilot, Mr. J. M. Pollock, nervously twirled the 
 big wheel as his charge ground along, making four miles an hour 
 when she was lucky, moving upstream on a strange river which 
 had never before known the paddlewash of passing steamboats nor 
 the mellow tones of whistles calling. 
 
 There was enough water over the dam at New Salem to carry 
 the steamboat easily and safely past. The entire population of the 
 
 52 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 town flocked to the waterfront in wonderment and delight and 
 crowded the narrow porches of the mill in order to see better, 
 as the boat tied up at the ferry landing. Lumber from the mill was 
 loaded on the lower decks, the whistle blew, bells clanged, echo- 
 ing against the hill, and the Talisman was on her way. 
 
 Several hours later, the people at Sangamo Town upstream, 
 notified by boys posted at points along the river, watched as the 
 steamboat hove into view around the bend, slid easily over the 
 well-flooded limestone of Roll's Ford and moved on toward Spring- 
 field. 
 
 Seven miles from that town, at Bogue's Landing, the steamboat 
 tied up. Her pilot hesitated, had in fact refused, to go any farther. 
 He was already in a bad state of nerves at what he had done to 
 bring his craft up the Sangamon. If the water should begin to fall, he 
 knew he would never get the Talisman out alive. She would struggle 
 vainly to escape and would leave her white bones on the river's 
 muddy bars and shores, forever lost in the forest, far from deep, 
 wide open water. 
 
 Oblivious to danger, the people staged a great celebration in 
 Springfield. A reception was held for the boat's officers and for 
 society lights of the area. A noisy and enthusiastic dance was 
 staged at the- courthouse. Local drinking establishments did a 
 thriving business. The goods which Captain Bogue had brought 
 from Cincinnati and St. Louis were sold to the eagerly waiting 
 merchants. Quite a few of them, however, bought on credit. 
 Everyone heralded the opening of a new era of prosperity, brought 
 to central Illinois by the river. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, with several days' holiday from Oflutt's 
 store, stayed in Springfield, got acquainted with as many people 
 as he could, attended the dance and altogether had an exhilarating 
 time. 
 
 And the brave white Talisman, lying at the landing, daily tugged 
 harder on her mooring ropes, which grew more and more taut. 
 The water was dropping. 
 
 "I'll never make it! " vowed Pilot Pollock, seeing how mud and 
 sand bars lay exposed which hadn't been visible on the upbound 
 
 53 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 trip. "I'd never tackle the job in a thousand years! Get somebody 
 else. I'm a deep-water man. I can't pilot a steamboat in this little 
 ditch, in a trickle a cow can wade across and not get her tail wet! " 
 
 Pilot Pollock was exaggerating, but anyone could plainly see 
 what was happening to the river, could figure what might surely 
 happen to the steamboat. 
 
 Captain Bogue, in desperation, asked for help. He could see 
 the profits of his venture rapidly vanishing in ruin. 
 
 "Rowan Herndon of New Salem is a bang-up pilot," someone 
 recommended. "He could take that-there steamboat acrost a pasture 
 in a heavy dew. But there's plenty of water left in that old river. 
 You should ought to see her in August! " 
 
 "You ever piloted a steamboat before?" asked Bogue of Hern- 
 don, who, with Lincoln and a good many other New Salem men, 
 was in Springfield for the celebration and was handy when needed. 
 
 "Well, not on the Sangamon, I'll allow," Rowan Herndon 
 grinned, "because there ain't been no steamboat before on this 
 here river. But I can guarantee you I'll get your steamboat to 
 Beardstown, if I have to tote her on my back. But I'll need some 
 help." 
 
 "Who you want? Name him and we'll get him!" 
 
 "Well, Lincoln's had a lot of experience on the rivers. He'll 
 do as good a job as I will, if not better. We could take it in shifts." 
 
 And so Abraham Lincoln, on that fine March day, was signed 
 on as assistant to the temporary pilot. Together they maneuvered 
 the steamboat down a rapidly narrowing stream which was be- 
 coming more and more untrustworthy, dropping fast, as that river 
 does when its spring crest is past. Lazy waters and mud bars made 
 progress slower and slower. The boat barely scraped through, yet 
 kept afloat. 
 
 Captain Bogue was in despair. Mr. Pollock devoted most of his 
 waking hours to solace in strong drink and had bad dreams at night. 
 Sometimes, when he and Bogue dared to look outside the cabin 
 windows, it seemed to them that the Talisman was struggling 
 through the forest with not a drop of water in sight. 
 
 But there was still enough . . . still enough. The steamboat 
 
 54 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 crawled along at four miles a day ... a day, not an hour. Nights, 
 they tied up. The passengers did their best not to be bored or 
 worried about the outcome of the voyage. 
 
 Ahead, like the walls of Troy, lay New Salem dam. This nemesis 
 of boatmen, a sturdy dam made of wooden cribs filled with a 
 thousand wagon loads of rock hauled from the quarry near New 
 Salem, had caused Abraham Lincoln considerable anguish, both 
 mental and physical, only the year before. It looked to him as if 
 it was going to do it again, only more so. For this was no flatboat 
 which could be lightened by taking off cargo, nor assisted by bor- 
 ing a hole in the bottom to let out water. The Talisman's cargo 
 had already been unloaded, back at the landing. Removal of the 
 passengers would not lighten her enough to matter. That dam 
 looked high as a wall. 
 
 The crew looped a line around a sycamore to tether the boat 
 while Lincoln went ashore. He conferred with John Camron, who, 
 with James Rutledge, still owned the mill, though Denton Offutt 
 had been renting it. Abraham didn't relish what he had to say. 
 Camron wouldn't like it so well, either. 
 
 "Say, John — " Abe began unhappily, hitching up his jeans. 
 People were gathering on the riverbank again, to watch the steam- 
 boat, which looked like a great, snowy duck on the narrowing 
 stream. She was an impossibly beautiful, heartbreaking sight. Hope 
 and despair, promise and failure, lay contained in her shapely form. 
 
 "John," went on Abe bluntly, to get it over with, "we've got 
 to tear down part of your dam to get this steamboat through. I 
 know you won't think kindly of it, but we sure can't track her 
 off across the fields on any short cut to Beardstown and she can't 
 stay here till the river rises again, which may not be until next 
 fall. I'll be careful how I take down the dam and will rebuild it 
 for you as good as new afterward." 
 
 John Camron frowned. He didn't like the idea of damage to his 
 milldam, but he knew as well as Abe did that only an improbable 
 rise in the river would float that big critter over the dam. 
 
 "Well, all right, Lincoln," he sighed. "I reckon you know what 
 you're about." 
 
 55 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 And so the Talisman finally was enabled to move slowly and 
 ponderously through the break in the dam. She was tied up again 
 below, so that Abraham and the men could reset the cribs and 
 stones, then ground and scraped her way downstream into the 
 broader reaches of the Sangamon. Thankfully, all on board saw 
 the steamboat slide into the deep waters of the Illinois River and 
 head for the port at Beardstown. 
 
 Rowan Herndon and Abraham Lincoln were each paid forty 
 dollars for their services. This looked like a fine lot of money, 
 especially to Abraham, whose pay from Mr. Offutt was not only 
 small but highly irregular. 
 
 It was then, in the peaceful, wet Illinois springtime, with the 
 Offutt store rapidly failing, with the Talisman gone and, along 
 with her, the prospects of successful steamboat trade materializing 
 on the Sangamon, that the Indians in northern Illinois started a 
 commotion which was felt in New Salem. 
 
 The Black Hawk War had begun! 
 
 56 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 w. 
 
 ar, steamboats and politics — that was the three-way trend 
 of talk in Illinois in 1832. 
 
 It was in March that Abraham Lincoln, for lack of anything 
 else to do, decided to take a try at politics. This was about as 
 foreign as any other subject to him, but he figured he could learn 
 if other men could. His entry into New Salem had been marked 
 by an election, and political talk had whiled away endless hours 
 during the winter. 
 
 Those arguments in general ran for or against the Jackson party. 
 Partisans were violent in their opinions, and many a steamed-up 
 argument turned to emphasis with fists when it came to holding 
 out for Jackson or Clay, Democrats or Whigs. The Democrats were 
 the common people, the men who had to work for their living 
 and who were outspoken for that hearty man of the people, Andrew 
 Jackson. The aristocrats were Whigs. They favored Henry Clay. 
 
 It was somewhat startling to his friends when Abraham Lincoln 
 came out as a Whig, for Clay and his policies — Abe Lincoln, who 
 had always been poor, had always labored with his hands, and 
 who had never been affiliated with aristocrats! 
 
 "How come you're a Whig, Lincoln?" asked Billy Greene, 
 curiously. 
 
 "Well, I don't hold with Andy Jackson, not one little bit!" re- 
 plied Abraham rather sharply. "He may be an all-fired big military 
 hero, but just because a man wins a battle down in the cypress 
 
 57 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 swamps of Louisiana doesn't mean he's going to be good in politics 
 or running the nation." 
 
 "What about Washington?" put in Billy. "He was a mighty fine 
 general and fought a good war. Won it, too, like Jackson." 
 
 "Well, George Washington wasn't like other men," defended 
 Lincoln, who idolized the latter. "He was as good a president as 
 he was a military man, which is saying a good deal, but Jackson 
 sure isn't a Washington! Besides, he hasn't played fair with the 
 Indians. And he's out to destroy the United States bank, too!" 
 Lincoln strode in irritation to the window, then came back. 
 
 "I hear he claims that poor people, who have nothing and likely 
 know less, can rule the United States as well as, if not better than, 
 the aristocrats who've been doing it since the beginning! " he added 
 acidly. 
 
 "That sounds kind of funny, coming from you, Lincoln." Billy 
 grinned up at him. "You aren't exactly an aristocrat yourself, mean- 
 ing no offense!" 
 
 "That's no news to me," agreed Abe drily. "But I've seen men 
 like me with a whole lot less education even than the smattering 
 I've got, and with a whole lot lower moral standards, who have 
 political notions. I'd hate to see some of them taking on the control 
 of our government. I shudder to think of it! " 
 
 "You're just biased because Clay's from Kentucky and so are 
 you," drawled Coleman Smoot, coming in and leaning on the coun- 
 ter. "Give me a piece of cut plug, will you, Abe? And the old 
 lady she wants a spool of white sewin' thread and a half a pound 
 of tea, and don't you weigh your thumb with that there tea, boy, 
 you old Whig, you!" 
 
 Coleman Smoot laughed at Lincoln's injured look. He was noted 
 for his strict honesty in weighing and measuring out the exact 
 amount and the correct change to everyone. 
 
 "Well, I'm right proud to be from Kentucky," said Abraham, 
 slicing off the chewing tobacco and handing it over, "but if Andy 
 Jackson was from my home county and neighbored with my 
 family, or even was kinfolk, I still wouldn't be partial to him nor 
 hold with his policies. No, sir! That be all, Mr. Smoot?" 
 
 58 
 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND BILLY GREENE SLEPT IN THE STORE, THEIR HEADS PILLOWED 
 
 ON BOLTS OF CALICO WITH A SMOKY TALLOW CANDLE . . . SOMETIMES ABRAHAM 
 
 STUDIED 
 
IN THE BACKWOODS OF THE PECAN BOTTOMS, PEOPLE . . . CAME OUTDOORS HESITANTLY 
 . . . HALF AFRAID OF THE STRANGE WHITE MONSTER. 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Why don't you go into politics, Lincoln?" asked Smoot, pocket- 
 ing his purchases. "Way you can talk, you'd be ahead of most of 
 the candidates, all except that Peter Cartwright. But he's a preacher 
 and a Methodist one at that, and you can't beat them as talkers." 
 
 "What'd I run for?" asked Abe blankly. 
 
 "Why, for a seat in the State Legislature down to Vandalia, 
 likely," replied Smoot, as if surprised at his friend's ignorance. 
 "No use startin' low on the ladder. There's twelve men from 
 Sangamon County runnin'. Might as well make it thirteen, though 
 it might be an unlucky number, at that. The bad luck could be for 
 some other one of the thirteen, maybe, and not you. Never can 
 tell." 
 
 The idea was new and daring. Abraham Lincoln from the back- 
 woods of Kentucky and Indiana and Illinois, setting himself up 
 to the Illinois State Legislature! It might not be a bad idea. No 
 harm done to try. However, Sangamon at that time was the biggest 
 county in Illinois and covered a territory twice the size of Rhode 
 Island. It might take him a while to get around and talk to enough 
 people so they'd know he wanted their votes. Abraham mulled 
 over the idea. He never decided anything very quickly. 
 
 "Seems like I'm so tall, it takes an idea a long time to run the 
 length of me and make up its mind what it's going to do and be, 
 if anything," he joked, when people tried to hurry him into de- 
 cisions. 
 
 One day he went over to Mentor Graham's schoolhouse, which 
 was also the Baptist Church, up in the woods on the hill south of 
 the village. Bill Greene was left in charge of the store. 
 
 The weather was mild and sweet for March. Down in the muddy 
 place by the creek where he crossed the log footbridge which the 
 school children used, Abraham discovered fresh raccoon tracks. A 
 black butterfly with ragged yellow borders on its wings flitted in a 
 shaft of sunshine. There were scarlet cup mushrooms poking out 
 like brilliant flowers from beneath damp old oak leaves and fallen 
 branches on the ground, and a hermit thrush, on its way north, 
 flew away from the path as the tall young man climbed the hill. 
 
 59 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 It seemed that the coming and going of the steamboat had brought 
 spring for certain. 
 
 There still was some sap dripping into the sugar buckets hung 
 on the maples up the hill. Abraham paused a moment to sip the 
 thin, sweet water from a tube made of elder with the pith bored 
 out and then went on. The sugaring time was really past. It had 
 ended two weeks before, when there was still snow on the ground, 
 warming days and freezing nights to make the sap rise. For days, 
 the fragrance of boiling sap turning into syrup, and of syrup turn- 
 ing into sugar, had been in the air. The sap still was dripping, but 
 now it was rising strongly through the trees, to give life to twigs 
 and buds. 
 
 "Welcome, Lincoln,'' said Mentor Graham, looking up soberly 
 from his book. School was out, but he had stayed longer than 
 usual in the peace and silence of the empty schoolhouse, before 
 returning to his evening chores, to the noisy houseful of children 
 and to his nagging wife. "Sit down." 
 
 The seat offered wasn't especially comfortable. The puncheon 
 benches which the pupils used were hard and rough, but Abe 
 guessed you didn't go to school for comfort. When he folded 
 down on one, he had trouble with his knees, too. 
 
 "Can't stay long, and you'll be wanting to get home to supper, 
 but I've got a problem," began Abraham, getting at once to the 
 point. "I know you can help me out — you and maybe Judge Green. 
 
 "Folks have been flattering me by asking me to go into politics, 
 run for the Legislature, and I don't know what all. Maybe they're 
 only joshing, but it might be a few of them really do think I could 
 make some sort of show, like the jaybird did when he found a 
 mess of peacock feathers. Anyway, I kind of thought I might give 
 it a try, seeing as how Mr. Offutt's store doesn't look too flourish- 
 ing, as you might say, and I may be out of a job just any day now. 
 You reckon I'm crazy to think of going into the Legislature, pro- 
 vided anybody'd vote for me, with the little education and experi- 
 ence I've got?" 
 
 It was an involved speech. Abraham Lincoln sat back with his 
 long arms around his knees, rocking back and forth a bit, watching 
 
 60 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 the schoolmaster's reaction. He'd hate to be laughed at for his 
 pains. 
 
 Mentor Graham's long, sensitive face lightened. You wouldn't 
 exactly say that he smiled, but his face cracked a bit. 
 
 "Well, now you may think you aren't equipped for the job," 
 he began, "but I should say from what we've thrashed out this 
 winter that you are well on your way to knowing more than a 
 little. Probably a great deal more than a lot of men aspiring to 
 higher office." 
 
 "You think I'd have a chance?" 
 
 "As much as any man, I should say," agreed Graham noncom- 
 mittally, "but you may not get as far as you think. People praise 
 up a candidate whom they like, but you never, never can be sure 
 how they are going to vote until the ballots are counted. You're 
 a Whig, aren't you? Mighty few around here. Mostly Jacksonian 
 Democrats and they'd think twice before voting for you, especially 
 those biased "whole-hog" Jackson men. The "milk-and-cider" 
 Democrats, though — well, you never can tell about them. They're 
 likely to be swayed by whichever man catches their fancy, which 
 may be you. Go ahead, my boy. You'll have my vote, at least! " 
 
 "Thanks, Graham!" said Abraham, getting up to shake the 
 teacher's slender, calloused hand. "Now that that's settled, I'll 
 need some help in writing out my platform. Since I don't have 
 any great and influential men to back me, I've got to run on my 
 own merits, I reckon, such as they are." 
 
 Written out carefully in Lincoln's best hand, the result had 
 looked rather impressive. This was duly carried in person, on a 
 borrowed horse, to Springfield. It was inserted in the pages of 
 the Sangamo Journal, where it was more astonishing to view in 
 print. 
 
 Judge Bowling Green had asked Abraham what he stood for, 
 expecting something vague, or maybe pretty high-flown, but he 
 and Graham were surprised at Abraham's concise reply. 
 
 "I'm for state-wide education that's paid for by the state, and 
 free to everyone. I think the usury laws ought to be amended so 
 people don't have to pay so much interest on borrowed money. 
 
 61 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 And I sure do want to see the Sangamon River improved so there 
 can be trade and traffic on it clear to Decatur." 
 
 He had ended the letter by saying: 
 
 "Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. Whether it 
 be true or not, I can say for one that I have no other so great as 
 that of being truly esteemed by my fellow men, by rendering 
 myself worthy of their esteem. How far I shall succeed in gratify- 
 ing this ambition, is yet to be developed. I am young and unknown 
 to many of you. I was born and have ever remained in the most 
 humble walks of life. I have no wealthy or popular relations to 
 recommend me. My case is thrown exclusively upon the indepen- 
 dent voters of the county, and if elected they will have conferred 
 a favor upon me, for which I shall be unremitting in my labors 
 to compensate. But if the good people in their wisdom shall see 
 fit to keep me in the background, I have been too familiar with 
 disappointments to be very much chagrined." 
 
 Lincoln had had little time to admire his efforts or to do any- 
 thing more to further his cause. The Black Hawk War was more 
 important at the moment. As he departed for the field of battle, 
 he wondered briefly if all that to-do about a platform would be 
 a waste, after all. If he never came back alive from his encounter 
 with the Indians, it would have been a silly thing indeed, but maybe 
 a suitable epitaph, at that — 
 
 / have no other ambition so great as that of being truly esteemed 
 
 by my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their 
 
 esteem. 
 
 What better sentiment could any man ask to be carved on his 
 
 headstone? With this melancholy philosophy, Abraham had set 
 
 off to the war. 
 
 Well, he hadn't needed a fancy epitaph, after all, at least not 
 yet. He had survived the Indians, the mosquitoes and the camp 
 food, and here he was, back on the political scene, only two weeks 
 before the election in August. His handbills were being distributed 
 in Springfield, New Salem and other communities, but he had 
 
 62 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 been away so long that most of the other candidates, who had 
 wisely remained in the political field, had had all summer in which 
 to go to barbecues and spout speeches and shake hands with the 
 people. It was true that John Todd Stuart, who was also on the 
 slate, had been in the Black Hawk War, too, but Stuart was well- 
 known. He need not be around all the time in order to advertise 
 his cause. 
 
 The Reverend Peter Cartwright, another candidate, at a huge 
 revival meeting which attracted several thousand people, had roared 
 fire and brimstone, eternal damnation and the unworthiness of the 
 other candidates, scarcely separating his subjects in his fervor. He 
 dwelt strongly on the fact that most of his opponents were sinners, 
 pagans or worse, and not worthy of being voted for by earnest 
 Christians. He swayed the masses with his thunder. He could mix 
 religion with politics and get people so worked up they would have 
 voted for anyone he recommended, so long as he promised them 
 salvation along with their votes. 
 
 "You're going to have to work terrible hard to catch up, Lin- 
 coln," warned Billy Greene. "All the rest of the candidates have 
 been stump-speeching and holding forth at barbecues and the like, 
 all summer long. Peter Cartwright's been a-roaring and a-shouting 
 till half the womenfolk at the camp meeting came down with the 
 jerks.' , 
 
 "I know," said Abraham Lincoln tersely, putting on his other 
 shirt and thinking that a haircut would maybe help his looks some, 
 though not much. "And I aim to catch up as fast as I can. I'm no 
 camp meeting exhorter, but I can talk, too!" 
 
 Abraham Lincoln set out. He had no horse, so he walked, walked 
 from house to house all up and down Main Street in New Salem, 
 and over to Clary's Grove and Athens, Concord and Sandridge, 
 Indian Point, Sangamo Town and Springfield. Bowling Green 
 lent him a horse for the far places. Lincoln talked to everyone, 
 wherever he went. He talked to the women in the family, too, al- 
 though they could not vote. They usually gave him a cold drink 
 and invited him to stay to dinner. He talked to farmers in their 
 fields, and while he talked he helped pitch hay or feed the hogs. 
 
 63 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 There was little opportunity, however, to gather a lot of people 
 together to listen to a speech. Most of the big barbecue rallies were 
 past. 
 
 "There's goin' to be a big sale over to Pappsville tomorrow," 
 commented Sam Hill helpfully. "Lots of people goin' to be there. 
 Might be a chance to say your piece." 
 
 So Abraham borrowed a horse again and rode to Pappsville. He 
 recognized a good many people in the crowd, but he scarcely 
 knew how to present his cause. Since he came unannounced as a 
 speaker, he could scarcely elbow his way to a box or wagon bed 
 and start in to spout off his merits, just like that. While he was 
 standing there, head and shoulders above the crowd and feeling 
 suddenly timid, lonely and pretty silly, too, to have come so far 
 in the heat, Jack Armstrong, also attending the sale, spotted him. 
 
 "Hey, there's Lincoln from New Salem, one of our candidates. 
 Hey, Abe, howdy! Come on and give us a speech. Tell us how 
 you're a-goin' to run the Legislature in this here State of Illinois!" 
 
 That was all that Abraham needed. The crowd, grinning, made 
 way for the big, broad-shouldered young man who was working 
 his way to the front. There was a wooden box handy; it would 
 make a good enough platform if it held his weight. He tested it. 
 It would hold. 
 
 As he stepped up to the makeshift platform and opened his 
 mouth for his first words, and had in fact begun: 
 
 "Fellow citizens — " there was a churning and commotion in the 
 crowd. Searching for the trouble, he discovered his good friend, 
 Rowan Herndon, suddenly flailing out with both fists. Lincoln 
 knew Herndon had had a fight last week; maybe this was a contin- 
 uation of it, and he hated to interfere until he discovered that 
 Herndon was getting the worst of it. Frontier fighting was not a po- 
 lite method of settling disputes. It was most frequently a dog-eat- 
 dog attack, gouging eyes, biting ears and noses, attempting to mu- 
 tilate one's enemy before he mutilated you. 
 
 As Rowan Herndon went down, people forgot about the tall 
 young man with the craggy features who had just opened his 
 
 6 4 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 mouth to address them. They formed a mass about the combatants. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln took a flying leap from the box and plunged 
 through the circle. He grabbed Rowan's attacker by the baggy seat 
 of his jeans and the collar of his shirt and hoisted him suddenly 
 into the air. The mighty arms flung the fighter in a graceful arc 
 into the crowd, which parted suddenly, and the man flopped to the 
 dust, limp as an empty meal sack. The others who had joined the 
 fight melted inconspicuously away at sight of the fire in Abe Lin- 
 coln's eyes and the power in his hands and arms. No one wanted 
 to tangle with that Lincoln. He helped Herndon up, brushed him 
 off, stanched the blood running from his nose and ear lobe. 
 
 "You hurt much, Herndon?" he asked his friend anxiously, 
 wiping blood. 
 
 "Nope," assented Herndon, grinning cheerfully. "Looks like 
 you saved me from a real beatin', though, and I do thank you, 
 Lincoln. Now you go on back and give us a speech we can get our 
 teeth into. Sorry I broke in like that." 
 
 "Speech! Speech!" brayed the crowd. 
 
 Abraham was not much in the mood now. He strode back and 
 mounted his impromptu platform. 
 
 "Fellow citizens," he began again, rapidly and concisely, as if 
 it didn't matter much to him. "I presume you all now know who I 
 am — I am Abraham Lincoln of New Salem. I have been solicited 
 by many friends to become a candidate for the Legislature. My poli- 
 tics are short and sweet, like the old woman's dance." 
 
 He paused there and looked out over the crowd, into the eyes 
 of the people watching. 
 
 "I am in favor of a national bank," he went on, without raising 
 his voice, and the women hushed the children so they could hear. 
 "I am in favor of the internal improvement system and a high pro- 
 tective tariff. These are my sentiments and political principles. If 
 elected, I shall be thankful. If not, I reckon it will be all the same." 
 
 He stepped down and the people cheered and clapped briefly, 
 and then went on with the sale. He didn't know, as he rode home 
 in the heat, if he had done himself or the state much good by that 
 
 65 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 so-called speech. Looking back on it, it mortified him to think how 
 it must have sounded, brief and not very meaty. If he'd heard any 
 candidate orate like that in his own cause, would he vote for the 
 man or not? Questioning himself honestly, he rather suspected he 
 might, at that. 
 
 August 6, 1832, was election day. It dawned hot and humid, 
 with a bright blue bowl of sky and dust on the horseweeds in the 
 river bottoms. Turkeyfoot grass out on the prairie was so high 
 that a horseman could not be seen as he rode the narrow rutted 
 trails which served for roads, coming to New Salem to cast his 
 vote. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln thought it was probably the longest day he 
 had ever spent. By three in the afternoon, he was sure it would 
 never end. The temperature was about a hundred, the afternoon 
 cicadas were shrilling away, the flies were terrible, a rattlesnake 
 was killed under the steps at Alex Trent's house, and half an hour 
 went by which seemed like about a week. 
 
 The ballots were duly delivered to Springfield, where they were 
 counted with all the rest of those from Sangamon County and the 
 votes were tallied. Next day, the results came to the uneasy young 
 candidate in New Salem. 
 
 He had lost. 
 
 // elected, 1 shall be thankful; if not, it njoill be all the same, he 
 had said. His words echoed drearily in his mind that night, but he 
 felt very sure that it would not be all the same. He would never 
 be the same, either. Still, he had one consoling thought. Even 
 though he had been beaten by the spouting parson, Peter Cart- 
 wright, who could shout the fur off a she-bear at six paces, and 
 by John Todd Stuart who was an aristocrat, Lincoln had come 
 in eighth in the field with 657 votes. His own precinct of New 
 Salem had turned out handsomely for him. Out of three hundred 
 votes cast, 277 were for him. He wondered wryly just who the 
 dissenting twenty-three were. 
 
 It wasn't a bad record, really, he consoled himself. Give him 
 
 66 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 a little more time on the next campaign, and maybe he could better 
 that record all over the county. He had at least impressed his name 
 and person upon some of the people. 
 
 Abraham sighed and turned over in bed for about the tenth 
 time, then gave up. He went outside and walked, meditating, out 
 under the summer stars where meteors were streaking from the 
 northeast. He came back about two, still terribly wide-awake. 
 
 The martins were twittering in the dark, pre-dawn sky, and by 
 half past four the east was beginning to glow and a lightness was 
 coming to the sky, making the trees stand out the blacker. Onstot's 
 cows were moving about in the dew-soaked grass and roosters 
 were saluting the sun. Abraham knew there was no sleep in him. 
 He got up for the day. 
 
 There was no doubt of it, Abe Lincoln was going to have to 
 find a job. He couldn't live off his friends forever. Surely some- 
 thing would turn up for an able-bodied man. 
 
 His chance came sooner than he expected. He was still overcome 
 with the laziness of no work and the heat and a touch of summer 
 complaint when a change came in the business situation in New 
 Salem. 
 
 "Say, Abe," began Rowan Herndon one night at supper, "I've 
 about decided I want to get out of the store business. You want 
 to buy my interest in the Herndon-Berry store?" 
 
 Severe-faced, gaunt Mrs. Herndon watched Lincoln's reaction 
 to the proposition. 
 
 "Yes, I would, Rowan," he said at once. 
 
 "Well — fine, Abe — but, well you got any money?" asked Hern- 
 don delicately, as his wife nudged him under the table. He knew 
 pretty well that Lincoln was flat broke, as usual. 
 
 "No, I haven't," Abraham answered honestly. "When Mr. Offutt 
 skipped town he sort of forgot to pay me my last wages, not to 
 mention certain other debts of his. But if you'll take my note in 
 payment for the whole, I'll see you get paid, and with interest. 
 My Black Hawk War pay ought to be along soon. You'll trust me, 
 won't you?" 
 
 6 7 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Trust you!" burst out Herndon earnestly, while his wife 
 frowned dreadfully but was ignored. "Abe Lincoln, I'd trust you 
 from here to Jericho. Sure, I'll take your note, and if I can loan 
 you some cash money to get started on, let me know. You'll find 
 Bill Berry ain't much of a businessman; he's his own best liquor 
 customer, I'm afraid. Bill's a good fellow when he's sober; smart, 
 too. I reckon his father, bein' a minister over to Rock Creek, and 
 leadin' the Temperance Society like he done, must be full of grief 
 and despair over that poor boy's transgressions!" Herndon had 
 kept on talking steadily, while his wife made several attempts to 
 break in, with no success. 
 
 "Bill Berry's all right," agreed Lincoln quietly. "And I'll do 
 what I can to put him on the straight and narrow." 
 
 "Mr. Lincoln!" finally snapped out Mrs. Herndon, her greenish 
 eyes ablaze. "You'll sign that note right now while I'm here to 
 witness it! I ain't lettin' you take my husband's business away 
 from him like that without no proper legal transaction! If you ain't 
 got the money, then sign a note, and I'll see to it that you pay 
 your interest prompt and get the principal paid, too, before you 
 skip town like your boss done!" 
 
 "Mrs. Herndon!" roared her mortified and furious husband. 
 "You shut up and keep your nose out of my business! I'll take 
 care of money matters in this house without you insultin' my 
 friends!" 
 
 Just like that, overnight and with the magical signing of his 
 name, Abraham Lincoln came up in the world. He wasn't really 
 a penny richer and had just gone considerably into debt, but he was 
 co-owner of a store! In spite of Mrs. Hern don's spiteful remarks 
 and venomous glare, it was a pretty good feeling, although the 
 weight of debt hung somewhat heavily. He would be glad when 
 it was paid off and when he was a free man again. Nevertheless, 
 he could not but feel proud to be a partner in a store. He wished 
 his father could see that. It might give him a somewhat better im- 
 pression of his tall son. 
 
 68 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 
 
 n a cold January day in 1833, trouble broke loose in New 
 Salem. Matters frequently exploded when the Clary's Grove boys 
 rode into town, although cold weather put a quietus on some of 
 their noisier outdoor activities. 
 
 The Saturday horse races were no more, and the loud betting 
 and commotion at the cockpit in the hollow just west of Clary's 
 grocery had ceased. The quiet, frost-tightened rigors of an Illinois 
 winter settled down and New Salem devoted itself to getting in 
 enough wood to keep a log cabin passably warm, at least at the 
 fireplace end of the house. 
 
 The women were busy making lye hominy, gritting corn, and 
 frying up pork so that their families would be heartily fed. They 
 were occupied at their spinning wheels and looms, making quilts 
 and nursing sick children, but the men had less to do. They spent 
 much of their time in lounging at Sam Hill's store, in the Berry- 
 Lincoln establishment, at Reuben Radford's store and in Clary's 
 grocery. 
 
 They were less likely to stay long at Radford's. He seemed 
 to expect them to buy something, and made pointed remarks con- 
 cerning loungers and no-goods who had nothing better to do than 
 clutter up a man's place of business. Reuben Radford lived twenty 
 miles away, in Springfield, and had only rented the building, which 
 the Trents had used before him, as a business proposition. 
 
 Reuben Radford was a giant of a man, almost as big as Abraham 
 Lincoln, but stouter. He was insolent of eye and overbearing of 
 manner, and he would take sass from no man. He hated the Clary's 
 
 69 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Grove boys and the hate was cordially returned. Still, they would 
 come to his store for drinks and frequently imbibed so much that 
 the place was thrown into a turmoil, items were wrecked, and a 
 brawl resulted which usually ended in expensive damage to Rad- 
 ford's property. 
 
 In desperation, finally, he vowed that he would limit those noto- 
 riously heavy drinkers, as well as all other customers, to no more 
 than two drinks a piece. It might hurt business, but it would save 
 destruction to his store. 
 
 For a while after this pronouncement, backed up by a carefully 
 hand-lettered placard announcing the new limit, the Clary's Grove 
 boys did not appear. A heavy snow evidently had kept them close 
 to their own firesides. However, snow or not, a few days later 
 Reuben Radford had an errand in Springfield and off he went, 
 leaving his younger brother in charge of the store. 
 
 "I won't be gone long, Jack," he said, putting on his big buffalo 
 fur coat. "You can manage, and if them Clary's Grove boys come 
 in, don't you dast sell them any more than two drinks apiece. More 
 than that, and they tear the place up and I've had enough of that!" 
 
 "Well, Ben," his brother said dubiously and uneasily. "I will 
 do the best I can, but I hope I don't have no Clary's Grove cus- 
 tomers because I sure don't want to tangle with none of them rough- 
 necks. They'd take me apart with their bare hands and scatter my 
 remainders to the buzzards! " 
 
 The youth's worst fears were realized when iron horseshoes 
 sounded on the flint-hard, icy ruts of the road. They clanged 
 through the town and pulled up at the hitching rack in front of 
 Reuben Radford's big store. His was the only one there made of 
 clapboards, not logs. The boy gripped the edge of the counter, his 
 heart hammering, as half a dozen big, brawny, bearded men 
 clumped in, rubbing their cold hands and filling the store with the 
 smells of leather boots, buffalo coats, chewing tobacco, goose grease 
 and unwashed bodies. 
 
 "Throw more wood on that there faar, boy," drawled Bill Kirby. 
 "This place is like unto the Nawth Pole. Twenty below zee-ro out- 
 side, I make me no doubt, and twenty-five below in heah, eh, boys?" 
 
 70 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 They laughed briefly at that one. 
 
 "Give us a drink, sprout," the men demanded, and the youth, 
 with shaking hands, drew the glasses and set them on the counter. 
 They were tossed off with dispatch and thumped down for a re- 
 fill. 
 
 "Another round of that Old Monongahela, my bucko," said 
 Japhet Potter, "and hurry it up. If you don't give us a warm store, 
 we got to find our heat zVzside us. Hah — that's good!" 
 
 The Radford boy held on to the counter, waiting. He knew 
 what was coming. The first two rounds of drinks had vanished 
 like snow in July. 
 
 "All right, what you waitin' for? Another round!" ordered Tom 
 Watkins, shoving his empty glass forward. "Don't just stand there 
 with your eyes buggin' out like a tromped-on toad-frog! Get 
 goin'!" 
 
 "I'm — I'm sorry, sir," quavered the boy, "but my brother told 
 me not — not to serve no more'n two drinks around — " 
 
 "Well, now, and ain't that just too bad!" sneered Potter, jutting 
 his hairy jaw close to the boy's terrified face. "You can just tell 
 Mr. Radford that we don't aim to limit ourselves, or let anyone 
 who pipes up limit how much we drink. Another round, you young 
 skunk, and fast!" 
 
 "I'm sure sorry, sir, but my brother — " 
 
 "Oh, blast your brother! " thundered Royal Clary, going around 
 behind the counter and shoving the alarmed youth out of the way. 
 "We'll serve ourselves, then he won't lick you because you didn't 
 mind him like a nice, good little boy! Hah! Here we are, fellows. 
 Drink up!" 
 
 Reuben Radford's stock of liquor was fairly large. The Clary's 
 Grove boys were fairly large, too, and had sizable capacities. 
 Before long, the stock of Old Monongahela, tafia and rum had been 
 considerably diminished. The Clary's Grovers were getting roar- 
 ing drunk. As Jackson Radford slipped out and ran for help, the 
 crash of crockery sounded like horrid music in his ears, the maudlin 
 songs of the drinkers and the splintering of bottles and jugs pre- 
 
 7i 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 senting a hideous accompaniment of wreckage. Pretty soon, a flat- 
 iron sailed through a windowpane, letting in a larger amount of 
 cold air than before, but the Clary's Grove boys were beyond car- 
 ing for that. They felt plenty warm inside and out now. 
 
 One of them tossed a bolt of calico on the fire, however, osten- 
 sibly to make more heat, but the smothering smoke billowed up 
 the chimney and into the store. 
 
 Then, suddenly finished, coughing with smoke, the wreckers 
 had had enough. Whooping, they ran somewhat unevenly from 
 the ruins and leaped on their cold horses. They set off at a gallop, 
 the men yelling and hollering, into the winter sunset, heading to- 
 ward Clary's Grove to the west. 
 
 By dusk they were riding past the farmhouse in which Reuben 
 Radford was staying overnight with his brother-in-law, George 
 Spears. He heard the racket on the splintering-cold winter night 
 and looked out. He turned quite pale — Clary's Grove boys and 
 on an obvious drunken spree! 
 
 He went to bed, but sleep came hard and he made a poor job 
 of it. Before dawn, Reuben Radford threw on his clothes and got 
 on his horse. He urged it through the silent, crystal dawn of a 
 winter morning, heading fast to New Salem. 
 
 He need not have hurried. The damage would not have been 
 any greater nor any less, he discovered, no matter when he got 
 there. 
 
 In a towering fury, Reuben Radford walked through the al- 
 most unhinged door and took a quick survey of the mess. It looked 
 like financial ruin. He walked outside, seething. Some of the men 
 of New Salem joined him to commiserate on his loss. 
 
 U I'U sell out this bear-garden to the first man to give me a price 
 on it! Right now, fast as I can! I'm through with New Salem and 
 these confounded barbarians. No law and order, no chance to 
 operate a decent business establishment. I'm through!" 
 
 Billy Greene, who had been Lincoln's assistant at Offutt's store 
 and who, although he was only twenty-one, was owner of the 
 store building housing Radford's stock, heard the offer. 
 
 "I'll buy it, Mr. Radford," he spoke up bravely. 
 
 72 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "You?" echoed Radford, with a brief laugh at the round-faced 
 youth. "All right, how much, Sonny?" 
 
 Billy Greene, who knew something of the store business and 
 who was far from stupid, knew exactly what he was about. His 
 pink and white face might give him the look of a cherubic child, 
 but his mind was keen and level. He got off his horse and went 
 into the store. The bolt of calico was still smoking furiously and 
 this made him choke, but he saw what he needed to see. There was 
 a mess, to be sure, but not a great deal of actual destruction. Spilled 
 molasses can cause an awful smear, but it washes up fairly easily. 
 Things were overturned, crocks and jugs were broken, but not a 
 great deal else was destroyed. 
 
 "I'll give you four hundred dollars as she stands," Bill Greene 
 offered, and meant it. Not that he had four hundred dollars, but 
 it would come in due time, perhaps. All he had now was twenty- 
 three dollars cash, and that was being saved for college. 
 
 "Sold!" cried Radford. 
 
 Bill Greene paid Reuben Radford the twenty-three dollars and 
 signed two notes at $188.50 each. The transaction was scarcely 
 completed and the ink dry before word got to Abraham Lin- 
 coln that Billy Greene had actually bought out Radford. Since 
 this piece of information was hardly credible, Abraham had to 
 come to find out the truth of it. He located Billy Greene at the 
 store, looking over the dismal scene of destruction. 
 
 "Well, so you're going to be my competitor, are you, Billy?" 
 he began, looking over the confusion and avoiding a puddle of 
 molasses. "Looks like you've got a big clean-up job ahead of you 
 before I can worry about my trade falling off any more than it 
 has already. What happened?" 
 
 "Clary's Grove boys, I hear," answered Billy. "Because Ben 
 Radford's brother wouldn't sell them more than two drinks each." 
 
 "Must have been quite a celebration," commented Lincoln drily. 
 "Now Billy," he added, "before you do anything else, you've got 
 to have an inventory. I'll help you. We'll make a list of what's here 
 and how much it's worth, so you'll know what you have and how 
 far in debt you've gone, or how much you've made, if anything. 
 
 73 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Come on, let's start. Golly, I wish those fellows had left the window 
 in. It's colder than the lee side of Greenland in here. Fill in that 
 broken pane with that piece of board and stuff rags around it, 
 Billy, and I'll haul that calico out of the fireplace and put a decent 
 fire in it. There!" 
 
 All the while he was making the inventory, Abe Lincoln was 
 thinking. This stock was worth a good deal, he was beginning 
 to see. The contents of the store outwardly looked bad, certainly, 
 but actually most of it remained in excellent condition. Radford 
 had sold good merchandise; this was quality stuff. 
 
 It was, in fact, a whole lot better than that reposing on the dusty 
 shelves of the Berry-Lincoln store across the street. 
 
 "Say, Bill," Abraham began, tapping his teeth with his slate 
 pencil, his breath coming in a white cloud in the chill air. "Say, 
 what would you think of selling out to us?" 
 
 Bill Greene blinked. Things were moving rather too fast for 
 him. 
 
 "How much?" he asked, as Reuben Radford had asked several 
 hours earlier. 
 
 "I reckon Bill Berry and I can pay you — let's see now: if my 
 memory serves me about what there is in our till, plus my Black 
 Hawk War pay, we can give you $265 in cash, Billy, and will 
 assume your notes to Radford. If this isn't enough, I reckon Bill 
 Berry's got a horse we can throw in." 
 
 "Why that's fine as silk with me, Lincoln," said Billy, some- 
 what dazed by all this high finance in which he had only paid out 
 twenty-three dollars, yet had bought and sold a store in the process, 
 and now came out with $265 in hard cash in his pocket. There 
 was ample to see him off to college in the fall. "Maybe you'd better 
 ask Bill Berry what he thinks of it before you . . ." 
 
 "Oh, Bill won't mind what I do. He'll approve," said Abraham 
 airily, but just the same, he went over to rout out his oversleeping 
 partner and tell him what he proposed. Berry agreed, sleepily. 
 Abraham emptied the cash drawer and poured a lot of small silver 
 and bills into Greene's pocket. Feeling somewhat like a million- 
 
 74 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 aire, William Greene went home to tell his folks about the whole 
 thing. Between breakfast and supper he'd made enough to send 
 him to college! As for Abraham Lincoln, he was poorer than ever 
 and more deeply in debt. 
 
 The partners moved their stock from the other store into the 
 newly cleaned up building in which the window panes had been 
 reset, having been brought by Harvey Ross, the mail carrier, from 
 Springfield. The Lincoln-Berry store was the sturdiest and best 
 of the store buildings in New Salem. Its clapboard walls gave it 
 a much more distinguished look than a log structure, and there 
 was a small room off the main part where Abe and Bill could sleep. 
 
 Lincoln felt like a prosperous merchant when he surveyed his 
 wares and the new surroundings, though the cash drawer was 
 pretty empty and it was very slow in filling up again. However, 
 competition was less, with Radford gone. Besides, William Clary, 
 irate at the continued opposition to his stock-in-trade by the strong- 
 voiced Temperance Society, was moving to Texas, so that only 
 the Berry-Lincoln store and Sam HilPs prosperous establishment 
 remained to supply the trade of New Salem and its surrounding 
 settlements. Sam Hill was also postmaster, which job, though not 
 lucrative, brought more business to his store. 
 
 Other changes had come to New Salem that winter. The Rut- 
 ledges, meeting financial reverses the autumn before, had sold the 
 tavern to Nelson Alley and had moved out to John McNeil's farm 
 on Sandridge, north of New Salem. The Camrons were gone, too. 
 They had sold the mill. 
 
 That winter, old Uncle Enos Short, a Revolutionary War vet- 
 eran, but spry and spunky for his age, was out turkey hunting. 
 He fired into a flock, killed six, fell down when the musket kicked 
 and broke his leg. He was the talk of the town for days. 
 
 In January, Rowan Herndon, in cleaning his gun, which he 
 swore afterward he didn't know was loaded, killed his wife when 
 the piece discharged. Although folk in New Salem were united 
 in admiring Enos Short's accomplishment, they were considerably 
 divided about Mrs. Herndon's tragic death. 
 
 "It's my considered opinion," stated one, solemnly, "that Rowan 
 
 75 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Herndon wasn't cleanin' no gun when it happened, and it wasn't 
 no accident! Mis Herndon, she had a temper like a white-faced 
 hornet, and I've heard many a tongue-lashin' she's give him, and 
 he handin' back as good as he got. No, that wasn't no accident! " 
 
 "He was sure broke up about it, though. Seems like if he done 
 it a-purpose he wouldn't carry on like that, nor cry like a baby 
 over her box at the buryin'. You take notice how sad-lookin' he's 
 been ever since, and swears he's got to get away from the place 
 that reminds him so much of her." 
 
 "Well, yes, maybe. Likely he does want to get away— off where 
 it's a mite safer than where he might be convicted of murder!" 
 
 "No, he won't be convicted of anything. They've closed the 
 case. They all agree it was accidental." 
 
 "Well, be that as it may — " 
 
 That winter, things went poorly with the Lincoln-Berry store. 
 For one thing, they didn't sell whiskey by the drink, only by the 
 jug or barrel, as all backwoods stores did. Whiskey was as much 
 a part of the usual stock as it was customary to sell calico over 
 the same counter as the lard, ax handles and rock candy, churns, 
 china and cheese. One was required to have a special license, how- 
 ever, to sell liquor by the drink. It was all right and free in bulk, 
 but to sell drinks on the premises turned the place into a grog shop. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln was against this method of dispensing hard 
 liquors. He had refused to get a liquor license, but young William 
 Berry, handsome, educated, but dissipated, felt they ought to sell 
 the stuff. 
 
 Abraham protested when Bill was especially insistent. 
 
 "It'll give the place a different kind of reputation and won't do 
 either of us any good!" 
 
 "It would help business, though, Lincoln," insisted Berry. "We'd 
 do twice the volume if we sold drinks by the glass. I'll see to getting 
 a license, and all you'll have to do is sign it at the bottom and then 
 forget the whole thing!" 
 
 And so, somehow, it happened. The Berry-Lincoln store was 
 selling drinks . . . but only when a customer came in, which 
 
 7 6 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 was not so very often. William Berry, his own best customer, 
 diligently drank up all the profits. A certain desperation and de- 
 spair overwhelmed him which only whiskey seemed to alleviate for 
 a little while. Abraham was worried about him. 
 
 As spring came on, the situation grew worse. Lincoln's frequently 
 morose soul brooded over the inevitable failure he saw looming 
 ahead. Whatever he turned his hand to seemed to fail. First it was 
 Offutt's store and now the Berry-Lincoln store going to the dogs, 
 headlong on the road to ruin. And not only this, but William 
 Berry's drinking and the liquor trade itself worried him night and 
 day. 
 
 In April, 1833, Abraham Lincoln knew what he had to do. He 
 sold his interest in the store to Bill Berry, who didn't seem to mind 
 the grinning goblin of impending failure as long as he had plenty 
 of whiskey in which to drown his disappointments. Lincoln, feel- 
 ing unutterably low in spirits and in funds, wondered what was 
 next. 
 
 "Well," he said wryly, out loud to no one in particular, "as the 
 little dog said when he looked at the tip of his tail, 'This is the 
 end!'" 
 
 He could have skipped town as Denton Offutt did. Lincoln 
 could have gone off quietly and tried his luck elsewhere and left 
 his creditors holding the notes he had so rashly signed. The great 
 West was waiting for men like him who had made a failure of 
 themselves. The West was big, and a man lost himself easily in 
 its immensity. But New Salem was home. His friends were here, 
 people who were trusting him to pay his debts and who knew that 
 in his honesty he would. He knew it, too, but with what or when 
 he hadn't the foggiest notion. It made him shudder to realize how 
 deeply in debt he had gotten himself, and how many people he 
 owed, and what an astronomical sum it was, with not a stray penny 
 on hand to pay even the interest. 
 
 "Well, I've got to get down to work, somehow," he reflected. 
 "There are always fence rails to be cut; fence rails have fed and 
 clothed me before and they can again. Maybe Sam Hill can use a 
 clerk now and then, and — well, something may turn up!" 
 
 77 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Only a very short time after this decision, Parthena Nance and 
 Jane Miller had a heated discussion. 
 
 "I tell you, Parthena, I will not abide being insulted in Sam Hill's 
 store every time I step in to get my mail!" snapped Jane Miller, 
 hands on ample hips, eyes flashing fire under her scoop bonnet. 
 "Whenever I go, with maybe something cooking on the hearth and 
 Fm in a hurry to get back, there's that insolent Sam Hill waiting 
 on liquor customers hand over fist, while the mail patrons stand 
 around on one foot and then the other, waiting his own sweet 
 time! How you can tolerate the man, I do not see, Parthy!" 
 
 Parthena Nance, who was handsome and tall and dark, with a 
 temper of her own, was extremely fond of the craggy-featured, 
 hot-tempered, dashing Samuel Hill, but she could see Jane Miller's 
 point of view. The women who had business at the post office had 
 to wait while the liquor customers were tenderly cared for. It was 
 a rough, tough, odorous atmosphere, and a lady, even a pioneer 
 woman who had learned to put up with a good deal, ought not to 
 have to endure it when she was about her honest business with 
 the United States post office. 
 
 "In my opinion," put in Mrs. Onstot quietly, "Abe Lincoln 
 ought to have the job. He's polite and pays attention when you 
 talk." 
 
 Jane Miller and some of the other strong-minded women of 
 New Salem got up a petition which they made bold to send all 
 the way to the postmaster at Washington. Time passed, however, 
 and no word came from the East. So much time elapsed, in fact, 
 that the irate ladies felt that their petition had become a hopeless 
 cause or else had been lost along the way. 
 
 In May, however, an official letter came from Washington, D.C., 
 informing Abraham Lincoln that he had been selected to take 
 Mr. Hill's place as postmaster at New Salem. 
 
 Sam shrugged. He didn't mind. The job of postmaster paid very 
 little, not more than a few dollars a year, and he would really rather 
 be relieved of a somewhat onerous responsibility. Anyway, he 
 liked Abraham Lincoln and was pleased that he had got the job. 
 Goodness knew he needed it. 
 
 78 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Abraham read the letter twice and then a third time, and felt 
 a great bubble of delight rise within him. When his spirits were 
 lowest, this letter revived him to life and hope. Even though the 
 job paid so little, all depending upon the amount of mail dispatched 
 and taken in, the esteem bestowed on the village postmaster was 
 a pleasant and useful thing. You were honored when you were 
 postmaster. It was a job with the United States government, and 
 even if it paid less than chopping rails, it actually wasn't very hard 
 or very steady work, while the prestige of the position was emi- 
 nently great. Not only that, but the postmaster had the privilege 
 of reading all newspapers and other unsealed publications which 
 came into the post office. 
 
 "What about your bond?" asked Mentor Graham, scowling out 
 from under his shaggy red eyebrows at the young man whom he 
 loved as a brother. 
 
 "Bond?" echoed Abraham blankly. 
 
 "It is customary and required for the postmaster to put up a 
 $500 bond when assuming a new post," said Graham discourag- 
 ingly. "It's returned later, I suppose. Do you have $500?" There 
 was the suspicion of a quirk in the schoolmaster's downward bent 
 lips. 
 
 "Five hundred dollars! " It seemed all Abe could do was produce 
 an echo. "It might as well be five million and I'd be as likely to 
 have it. Who would have that much to loan me? You?" 
 
 "Not I," replied Graham bitterly. "A schoolmaster is the least 
 paid and the last paid of any man. They compensate me in side- 
 meat and corn and lye soap and all such like, but the cash money 
 is scant and it's all I can do to feed that family of mine. No, I wish 
 I could, Lincoln. Try Sam Hill, or maybe Alex Trent. They are 
 both pretty well fixed." 
 
 Abraham was smilingly turned down by Sam Hill, who didn't 
 fancy paying the bond for his successor, though he let him keep 
 the post office in the store. Alex Trent and Nelson Alley, however, 
 decided they would take a chance and between them they put up 
 the amount. Abraham Lincoln signed notes again. 
 
 79 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 It seemed to him he was always signing more notes, amassing 
 more obligations. He began to think of it as the National Debt 
 and he'd be as likely to have a chance to pay one as the other. 
 
 "Well, in spite of getting into debt again," he said to Mentor 
 Graham, "I'm glad they gave me the job. What I can't understand, 
 though, is how I got it in the first place. After all, I'm a Clay man 
 and a Whig, and everyone knows it, and here I'm appointed post- 
 master under President Jackson himself, who is a Democrat and 
 a loud one. I guess the job just isn't big enough or important enough 
 for anyone to care much one way or the other. Not enough pay 
 for any Democrat to fight for it, I reckon. Just the same, I'm mighty 
 pleased to be postmaster. Somehow, I never expected to rise so 
 high!" 
 
 He was not, he soon realized, a very businesslike postmaster. 
 If a letter awaited someone who had not the money to pay for it — 
 postage being paid by the recipient, based on how many pages 
 there were in the letter and how far it had come — he simply handed 
 it over and paid for it out of his own pocket. Sometimes he walked 
 out into the country to deliver a letter in person, if he knew it was 
 special — but since he usually was invited to dinner, this was apt 
 to be worth the trouble. The few receipts which came in were 
 kept in the toe of an old blue sock which Abraham carried home 
 with him at night and brought to the postal desk in Sam Hill's 
 store with him the next morning. The mail carrier, young Harvey 
 Ross, came twice a week to pick up and deliver mail. Between 
 times, there was little for the postmaster to do. That gave him so 
 much more time for studying, or for taking any paying jobs that 
 might come along. 
 
 80 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 0, 
 
 n a may day in 1 83 3, a young woman in a fashionable blue 
 silk dress with crisp leg o' mutton sleeves and a full skirt tightly 
 belted around her waist, walked deliberately and dramatically down 
 the length of New Salem's Main Street to the post office. Loungers 
 on the porch of Sam Hill's store stopped chewing and sat up. 
 Little boys playing marbles in the dirt paused, knuckles down, as 
 the strange swish of silk brushed past their ears. Silk made a sound 
 which seldom or never had been heard before in New Salem. No 
 calico gown, no linsey-woolsey dress, no alpaca for Sunday best, 
 ever rustled like that, ever crinkled and swished and sang as a lady 
 walked, nor caught the glints of spring sunlight so that the fabric 
 twinkled like a summer night. 
 
 If the young woman was aware that people were looking at her, 
 she gave no evidence of being self-conscious or of minding that 
 they looked. She held her head high on its round white neck, 
 carried her straight shoulders well erect, set her kid slippers de- 
 liberately one in front of the other, not toeing out as it was thought 
 fashionable to do. She did not mince, nor did she stride like a man, 
 but walked in beauty, poise and confidence, knowing she was 
 making a sensation, knowing the men were looking at her, knowing 
 the women stopped and widened their eyes in envy at her lovely 
 gown and the pale blue bonnet with the rosebuds on the high 
 scoop brim. She knew they saw her pearl-gray mitts — what woman 
 in New Salem wore mitts, but only put on gloves in bitter weather? 
 They eyed her neat black slippers, her parasol, her Cashmere 
 
 81 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 shawl, her unutterably stylish ballooning sleeves. 
 
 In a certain shocked silence in which even a catbird in the wild 
 plum bushes was quiet, and in which her precise footsteps sounded 
 suddenly loud on the planks, she closed her parasol and stepped on 
 to the porch of Sam Hill's store. With a fragrance of lavender about 
 her, she walked through the open door. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln at the post office desk in the next room looked 
 up and blinked against the light. 
 
 "Good afternoon," she said in a clear, sweet voice, smiling ever 
 so slightly at his startled, sun-tanned face. "Do you have any mail 
 for the Abells? And perhaps for me, Miss Owens?" 
 
 Abraham Lincoln fumbled through the mail and dropped half 
 of it. Ever since Harvey Ross had come in with the mail that morn- 
 ing, Abraham had wondered who Miss Mary Owens might be. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, there's a letter. It has twenty-five cents due, 
 ma'am. It's come a far piece." 
 
 "Thank you," she said and opened her reticule and took out the 
 money. She dropped it into Lincoln's strong, work-coarsened 
 palm. For just a fraction of a fleeting instant, their fingers met. 
 The touch of those finger tips sent a thrill all the way through the 
 young postmaster, leaving him with a curious tingling sensation in 
 his toes. 
 
 "My sister wishes me to bring a half pound of black tea, also, 
 sir, and a pound of loaf sugar," she added. Her voice was sweetly 
 southern. No Yankee, she. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln got up from the mail desk and moved over 
 to the shop counter, since Sam was out just then. Lincoln was em- 
 barrassed at the way he fumbled the tea before he got it properly 
 weighed out and done up in a clumsy parcel. He made a bungle of 
 breaking off the hard white sugar from the blue-paper wrapped 
 loaf. He was still in a state of utter confusion and awe when the 
 splendid vision thanked him prettily and, with a rustling of skirts 
 and sleeves, left the store. She stepped down from Sam Hill's mud- 
 clotted porch, opened her parasol and set off west up Main Street. 
 She picked her way daintily around mud holes where hogs wal- 
 lowed in calm unconcern of her beauty. If she was staying with 
 
 82 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 the Abells, then she had half a mile or so to walk. The way she 
 stepped out, she would do it easily, Abraham figured. 
 
 The men on the porch resumed chewing. 
 
 "Glory be!" exclaimed Isaac Golliher, ejecting an arc of brown 
 tobacco juice into the dandelions. "Did you ever in all your born 
 days see the like of that, now?" 
 
 "I never in my life seen such fancy fixing on no female!" 
 ejaculated Ned Potter, batting his red-rimmed eyes at the memory. 
 "I declare, did you hear how she swished, goin' by? Like a wind 
 through a dry cornfield in fall. How come she swished like that 
 there? I never hear my wife makin' no such a noise when she 
 walks!" 
 
 "Likely you don't," Philemon Morris grinned, "since your 
 woman ain't got no silk gown like that one. It's the silk makes the 
 noise," he explained learnedly. "All the females is crazy for silk 
 gowns so's they kin rustle pretty when they walk. It ain't quite 
 decent, if you ask me, attractin' attention to 'em, like brazen 
 huzzies! " 
 
 "You mind your language, Philemon," snapped out tart Mrs. 
 Bowling Green, who had come for her mail. "Miss Owens is a 
 proper brought up young lady and ain't no brazen huzzy, even 
 if she does swish. You ain't noticed her mincin' nor twitchin' as 
 she walked, did you? She carries herself like a lady, keeps her eyes 
 to herself, and I don't want no bold comments from you loafers 
 just because you ain't seen a real lady up close before. Don't show 
 your ignorance!" With this acid comment, she went in and de- 
 manded her mail. 
 
 She had to ask for it twice before Abraham Lincoln emerged 
 from a trance involving lobelia-blue eyes, curling black hair, skin 
 the color of spring beauties and the electrifying touch of fingers in 
 gray net mitts. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," he apologized absently, giving her the wrong 
 mail. 
 
 "Abraham Lincoln, do wake up!" she cried in exasperation. "A 
 body'd think you were sound asleep in the middle of the day. 
 You act as addled as a possum caught suckin' eggs! Pay attention 
 
 83 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 and give me the proper mail, if there is any, and tell me how much 
 is due. I reckon there ought to be a Sangamo Journal, too. Or have 
 you quite finished readin' it yet?" 
 
 She took the sting out of this piece of sarcasm by adding, "By 
 the way, Abe, Squire says come over tonight. Better come to 
 supper and stay the night, if you want. Might as well. Time you 
 two finish discussin' the affairs of the nation and get it all settled 
 how it should ought to be run, it'll be nigh mornin', anyway! " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, thank you, I'd admire to come," said Abe, re- 
 covering somewhat. With a few more fumbles, he managed to 
 find all of Mrs. Green's mail and thankfully saw her depart. 
 
 He got up from the somewhat dusty, pigeonholed mail desk and 
 sauntered to the door. He leaned one hip against the door frame, 
 casually, hands in pockets, ankles carelessly crossed, while a mud- 
 dauber wasp, busily carrying pellets of mud through the open 
 doorway to a new nest plastered against a shelf, buzzed in irritation 
 as she had to swerve past his head. 
 
 "Uh — who was she, boys?" 
 
 "You mean Mis Bowlin' Green? Don't tell me you don't recol- 
 lect seein' her before?" countered grinning Sam Hill, who had 
 returned. 
 
 "You know who I mean," said Lincoln soberly. 
 
 "I heard Mis Green call her Miss Mary Owens, and that's the 
 name she give when she asked for mail." 
 
 "No, I mean, where's she from, who's she kin to, and why is 
 such a fine lady in New Salem?" 
 
 "Had a southern way of talk," noted Isaac Golliher, remember- 
 ing. "Heard her plain when she was talkin' to you, Lincoln. Likely 
 she's from Kentucky or Virginia or maybe Nashville. But she's 
 quality, you can tell. Hear how she spoke her words — pretty as a 
 mockin' bird, way she said 'em." 
 
 "Yeah, she's quality all right," added Philemon Morris, as if 
 what he uttered was the last word. "No female ever dressed or 
 walked or looked like that in New Salem, meanin' no disrespect 
 to our womenfolk. But, well, I can't see no silk gowns and gray 
 mitts milkin' cows or cardin' wool, or breakin' flax or makin' 
 
 8 4 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 soap, nor sloppin' the hogs or tryin' out lard, like our females got 
 to do. No, sir. Miss Owens is quality. She don't have to do no 
 hard work. She's more'n likely rich as grease and got slaves at home 
 to work for her." 
 
 Abraham straightened his hip from the door frame, uncrossed 
 his ankles and in silence went back to the post office counter. He 
 absently finished sorting the mail and noticed suddenly a letter for 
 Mrs. Bennett Abell which he had overlooked in his flurry. A 
 quick flicker of a smile went over his face and vanished before 
 anyone discovered it. He settled down to reading the news in Men- 
 tor Graham's Sangamo Journal, feet propped higher than his 
 head, until closing time. 
 
 The April sunset was sweet and clear over beyond the woods 
 and across the open prairie land west of New Salem when Abraham 
 Lincoln set out. His hair was combed and arranged neatly on his 
 forehead, its unruliness stuck down as best he could manage with 
 grease. His face was freshly shaven, he had on a clean shirt, and 
 the letter for Mrs. Abell was concealed in the pocket of his worn, 
 too-short jacket. He strode west down Main Street, heading for 
 the trail that led to Dr. Abell's farm, north of town. 
 
 It was spring on the prairie. The open country was soggy, green- 
 ing and alive after the April rains. In broad beds like pale blue 
 lake water, the wild hyacinths blossomed. Violets were everywhere, 
 accented by masses of golden-orange puccoon. Old Granny Spears 
 over at Clary's Grove dug the puccoon roots for medicine. In 
 the acres of short, new grass, prairie chicken cocks were strutting 
 in the sunset, heads down, feather tufts elevated like rabbits' ears, 
 bowing, stamping, leaping into the air. He could hear the low, 
 mellow "oooooooooo" of the prairie chickens coming pleasantly 
 and a trifle eerily across the sunset. He remembered how, as a 
 boy, he used to make a noise a good deal like that when he blew 
 across the top of an empty molasses jug, and he smiled to himself, 
 remembering. He liked the booming and calling of the prairie 
 chickens. They were even noisier just before dawn. 
 
 Where old cattails stood, sand-brown above a prairie pond, 
 
 85 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 the redwinged blackbirds were giving off their last carols of the 
 day before they slept. Woodcocks were back. They went hur- 
 tling off on whirring wings as the tall young man strode past where 
 they had been probing the mud for worms. High in the clear green 
 and apricot colors of the sunset, he could see the woodcocks 
 spiralling madly, uttering their strange "peenting" in courtship 
 songs. The racketing of frogs and the cool trilling of the toads 
 filled the sweet spring dusk. 
 
 Everything was singing and courting, he thought with a degree 
 of pleasure in just thinking how loving all the creatures were. 
 That was kind of the way he was feeling, too . . . bubbly inside, 
 a bounciness in his step. He began whistling as he walked. The 
 letter was warm in his pocket. 
 
 "Why, it's Mr. Lincoln — do come in, Abraham!" cried Mrs. 
 Abell when she opened the door to his knock. "We're just sitting 
 down to supper — we're a mite late tonight, with Bennett helping 
 the ewes with their lambs this evening. Come join us. We've got 
 a big pot of dandelion greens that Mary and I picked this morning, 
 and there's nothing more heartening in spring, I say, than good 
 new greens to thin your blood. Do stay!" 
 
 "Don't mind if I do," said Abraham, pleased. He'd hastily 
 eaten a chunk of rat cheese and some none too fresh crackers 
 before starting out when the store closed. Now he carefully 
 scraped his boots on the doorstep and came in. 
 
 "I overlooked a letter that came today, ma'am," he added, 
 explaining why he was there, "and allowed you might be in a 
 hurry for it, mail being a scarce commodity around here, usually. 
 So I thought, since it was my fault you didn't get it, I'd bring it 
 out to you." 
 
 His eyes were roaming the cabin room without finding what he 
 sought. 
 
 "I'm so grateful, Abraham," said Elizabeth Abell, a small, pretty 
 woman whose husband was well-off. The Abell house had nice 
 dishes, curtains at the windows and a rug on the floor, a French 
 rocker made of cherry wood polished to a high shine and a fine 
 drop-leaf table. Not only that, the Abell house had three rooms, at 
 
 86 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 a time and in a neighborhood in which two rooms were con- 
 sidered a mighty improvement over the old one-room cabin. 
 
 "It's from my aunt in Lexington, I see," Mrs. Abell went on. 
 "Mary will be so glad. Mary," she called, then added to Abraham, 
 "my sister is visiting us — but of course you saw her when she 
 came for the mail." 
 
 She was there! 
 
 "Mary, I want you to meet Mr. Lincoln, the postmaster. Mr. 
 Lincoln, Miss Owens." 
 
 "Pleased to meet you, ma'am, I'm sure," mumbled Lincoln, 
 blindly taking her hand and essaying a brief and awkward bow 
 at the same time. Again he felt prickles at the touch of her hand, 
 clear to his toes. He absently pumped it up and down with vigor 
 until she firmly drew it away. 
 
 "It is very kind of you to bring the letter all this way, Mr. 
 Lincoln," she said in her clear, cool southern voice. "If you de- 
 livered all the mail in person, it would take most of your time, 
 would it not?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am," he stammered. "I guess I wouldn't 
 mind. Especially if folks'll ask me to take supper with them, like 
 this." And he laughed, suddenly in possession of his faculties 
 again. "You aiming to stay long, ma'am?" he asked hopefully. 
 
 "Oh, until I find it boring," she replied airily, moving about to 
 help her sister put the food on the table. Her strong hands worked 
 capably as she wielded the knife, skillfully cutting the cornbread 
 into precise squares, and dished the fragrant greens into an iron- 
 stone bowl. There was sliced ham on a rectangular white platter 
 edged with dark blue, and a bowl of boiled potatoes on which the 
 eaters were to pour ham gravy. There was the clear orange-colored 
 brew of sassafras tea in blue and white cups. It looked like a 
 mighty fine feast to the hungry young man, especially with two 
 handsome women to serve it and preside at the drop-leaf table with 
 its red and white checkered cloth. Dr. Abell came in after washing 
 up from his chores at the barn. 
 
 Abraham ate, but he seldom took his eyes away for long from 
 the attractive young woman opposite him. He liked the way her 
 
 87 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 bodice fitted her rounded, rather plump body. She carried herself 
 so well, was so well gowned and groomed, that she didn't look 
 sloppy or as heavy as she probably was — which some other girl 
 might. He thought with an inner grin of Sugar-May Prettiford 
 who always looked as if she were falling apart at the seams. She 
 was big and bulgy in the wrong places and usually had bacon 
 grease down the front of her drab-colored dress, or a hem ripped 
 and dragging. 
 
 Miss Owens — well, she was class, she was quality, as he had 
 seen instantly when she came into the store. She wasn't like the 
 usual backwoods girls to whom he had been accustomed. He 
 liked the way she held her shoulders, how cool and intelligent 
 her blue eyes were and how level and merciless they were, too, and 
 yet somehow smiling. 
 
 It was an astonishingly short evening. At ten, Abe Lincoln tore 
 himself away from the fascinating company and exhilarating con- 
 versation of Miss Owens who, he discovered in gratification, was 
 in possession of an excellent education and could discuss philosophy, 
 literature, French and politics with enviable ease. She humbled him, 
 but she fascinated him anew with every word she spoke. No word 
 was fumbled, none was unsure. He felt that each sentiment falling 
 from those beautifully molded lips was incontrovertible truth and 
 not to be argued with, yet he loved trying to argue, even when he 
 knew she would beat him down every time. 
 
 It was not until he was halfway home in the black April night 
 that he remembered with a shock that Mrs. Bowling Green had 
 asked him to supper — and he had clean forgotten it! With an 
 exclamation at his own stupidity, he turned and went across the 
 woods to Greens' house, but found it dark. Well, he'd have to 
 apologize tomorrow. 
 
 After that, whenever he had a chance, Abraham Lincoln 
 followed the trail out to the Abells. Grass was growing tall on 
 the prairie, meadowlarks were nesting, the woodcocks had gone 
 on north. The prairie chickens had finished their strutting and 
 booming and had nests in the tall grass, before Mary Owens de- 
 
 88 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 cided to go home to Kentucky. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln was desolated. He had never known a woman 
 like her, had never felt so stimulated in conversation, so en- 
 tranced by the cool, composed charm of this young woman. Beside 
 her, the conversation of other girls, even sweet Ann Rutledge, 
 who was well educated, too, and was going to go to the Female 
 Seminary in Jacksonville, seemed dull and flavorless. Beside Mary, 
 Ann's prettiness and kindness were dimmed by the other girl's 
 more positive charm and ruthless assertion. Parthena Nance, who 
 was as forthright as Mary Owens, seemed crude and blatant in 
 comparison. None of the New Salem girls, Abraham felt, in his 
 infatuation, could hold a candle to Mary. 
 
 "Don't go, you've just come!" he found himself pleading, 
 daring to take one of her hands in his. She let it remain a long, 
 delicious moment, then drew it smoothly away and smiled at him. 
 
 "I have been here more than a month, sir, and you will be 
 finding my company a bore if I stay much longer." 
 
 "No, never!" he declared with vehemence. "We've so much 
 more to talk about — so much — " 
 
 Then, with promise in her blue eyes, she smiled. 
 
 "Perhaps I shall come back some day." 
 
 8 9 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 L 
 
 Iincoln was out in the woods, laying his broad-ax into oak 
 logs to make fence rails for Squire Green. He was slamming his 
 blade into the wood with a vigor which made the golden autumn 
 woods ring with sound, when a stout figure in homespun ap- 
 proached. 
 
 "Hi, Pollard," Abraham called out, wiping his neck and pausing 
 as Pollard Simmons came up. The visitor was somewhat out of 
 breath and perspiring in the unseasonable Indian summer warmth 
 in which Illinois had basked for weeks. 
 
 "Lincoln, you got a job! John Calhoun, who's the county 
 surveyor, he says he wants to appoint you deputy surveyor. Ain't 
 that wonderful?" 
 
 "Oh, now, Poll, you're joking — or else a mite crazy. Now you 
 begin at the beginning and tell it slow, so I can catch the drift. 
 You say John Calhoun's — " 
 
 "He's done sent you word you're to be a deputy surveyor, if 
 you'll take the job!" 
 
 "Well, now, that sounds mighty pretty," said Lincoln, still 
 puzzled, "but I'd say at least two things keep getting in the way of 
 my acceptance — one is that the surveyor's job is political, and 
 since Calhoun's a Democrat and I'm a Whig, we don't exactly 
 jibe. Also, he isn't apt to offer someone like me the job, anyway. 
 Besides, I don't even know the first thing about surveying, or the 
 second thing, either. It could be Greek, for all I could tell you 
 about it!" 
 
 Pollard Simmons's flat moon face looked blankly up at Abe. 
 
 90 
 
HE GRABBED ROWANS ATTACKER BY THE BAGGY SEAT OF HIS JEANS AND THE COLLAR 
 OF HIS SHIRT AND HOISTED HIM SUDDENLY INTO THE AIR. 
 
SILK MADE A SOUND WHICH SELDOM OR NEVER HAD BEEN HEARD BEFORE IN NEW 
 SALEM. ... NO CALICO GOWN EVER RUSTLED LIKE THAT. 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "All I know is that Mr. Calhoun he done told me to come and 
 tell you to come to see him if you-all want the job. So I've told you, 
 and that's all I kin do!" 
 
 Abraham went on splitting rails, but he was thinking hard. 
 That afternoon, he borrowed a horse from Squire Green and rode 
 over to Springfield, to see the tall, dignified and elegant Mr. Cal- 
 houn. 
 
 "My name's Lincoln, Mr. Calhoun," he began. "Pollard Simmons 
 says you want me — " 
 
 "Ah, yes, Mr. Lincoln," said Mr. Calhoun, rubbing his long hands 
 and scrutinizing the tanned, bony, rather melancholy face of the 
 very tall young man before him. "Will you take the job?" 
 
 "But, Mr. Calhoun — I — I — why, I don't know surveying," 
 Abraham stammered. "I never surveyed anything in my life 
 except the prospect before me, which is something different again." 
 
 "You can learn, can't you?" 
 
 "Well, I guess — but I haven't any real education — " 
 
 "You don't have to excuse yourself, sir. Lots of us haven't 
 had real educations, as you call them, at least not formal educa- 
 tions in college. You can learn surveying like anything else, if you 
 put your mind to it. It's tough, but interesting, I think you'll 
 find. You can do it. Besides, the pay is fairly good, and with so 
 much land opening up and towns being laid out these days, you'll 
 always be able to earn a living with it." 
 
 This latter point, inserted almost casually, was a bigger per- 
 suader to learning a new subject than anything else Calhoun 
 could have mentioned. Abraham Lincoln was badly in need of 
 cash. It seemed to him that this was a chronic ailment with him. 
 
 "Where can I learn?" 
 
 "I'll lend you some books. You'll have to study geometry and 
 trigonometry." 
 
 "I've already had some geometry," began Lincoln. "That might 
 help. Mentor Graham, over at New Salem, helped me on it." 
 
 "Why, man," exclaimed Calhoun, smiling, "you're halfway 
 there already! You brush up on your geometry. Take these books, 
 
 91 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 and as soon as you think you know the subject and can tell the 
 difference between a piece of land of ten square chains and one of 
 ten chains squared ... let me know, and I'll send you out on a 
 job." 
 
 "By the way, sir," put in Lincoln delicately. "I'm a Whig, you 
 know. Ah — er — will I be required to change my politics?" 
 
 "Heavens, no, Lincoln! You continue in your beliefs, and I'll 
 continue in mine, and both of us will keep our peace!" 
 
 The rapidity of some events left Lincoln blinking and all but 
 speechless. His mind moved somewhat slowly but surely; it was 
 hard to force it to a quick decision. He had to go over a matter from 
 all angles, studying it out, checking all points, bounding it north, 
 south, east and west, until he knew all the facts. But here he was, 
 quick or not, involved in the art of surveying, with a job waiting 
 as soon as he was smart enough to take it! 
 
 He rode back to New Salem with Gibson's Theory and Practice 
 of Surveying and Flint's Treatise on Geometry, Trigonometry and 
 Rectangular Surveying, some of which he perused as his horse 
 plodded along. The books, tough as the subject matter was, excited 
 him. A long evening of examining them by candlelight, however, 
 finally had him floored. 
 
 Next day, in desperation, he took the books and walked across 
 the woods and fields to Mentor Graham's house. 
 
 "Graham," he began, thumping his books down on Sarah 
 Graham's polished walnut table, "I've got involved in a problem 
 and have to find a way out of it. Do you know anything about 
 surveying?" 
 
 The schoolmaster, who knew a little about almost everything and 
 a great deal about a lot of things, cautiously admitted that he did. 
 
 "Well, I'm to learn surveying so I can get a job that's been 
 offered to me. Imagine — me a surveyor! I need some help, though, 
 because this is the Greek-est amount of stuff I ever ran into in my 
 life!" 
 
 Lincoln and Graham went to work that evening. Abraham was 
 invited by Sarah to sleep there while he was studying, but pre- 
 
 92 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 cious little sleep he got. Far into the night, the patient teacher 
 and the earnest young man pored over the problems of surveying 
 and higher mathematics. Like so many subjects, Lincoln found 
 that it started out simply enough. It was only a few pages farther 
 along that things began to grow complicated. 
 
 He learned that surveying was measuring land by means of a 
 Gunter's chain, which comprised a hundred links totalling sixty- 
 six feet or four rods. He learned that eighty such chains made a 
 mile, that a square chain makes 4,356 square feet, and that ten 
 square chains make one acre, but that ten chains square were ten 
 acres. He learned how you survey a hillside, and how you cross 
 watercourses. He learned how to calculate distances and angles, 
 the declination of the magnetic needle, logarithms of numbers and 
 the solution of triangles. He studied; he figured everything out; 
 he memorized it; he recited and paced; sometimes he thought his 
 head would spin off his neck. He got so little sleep at night that 
 during the day he was red-eyed and bleary and often fell asleep 
 at the counter until jogged awake by a customer. 
 
 By the end of six rugged weeks, Mentor Graham also was worn 
 out with the late hours, Sarah Graham was tight-lipped and more 
 acid than usual and Abraham Lincoln looked as if he had en- 
 dured a six-weeks' siege. He was haggard and had lost ten pounds 
 from his already spare frame. But he had learned enough about 
 surveying to feel that he could take John Calhoun's proffered 
 position and do a comprehensive job of it. He hoped it would be 
 a good-paying one. Goodness knew he needed it! 
 
 Before he could do any surveying, however, Lincoln needed 
 some equipment. This, unfortunately, required money, and of this 
 he had but little. 
 
 John Calhoun sold him a secondhand surveyor's compass, but 
 he couldn't afford to buy a Gunter's chain. The compass had 
 taken all his cash. Instead, he went to the woods for assistance. 
 
 It was on a chill, quiet, fragrant November day that he went 
 down the hill to the river forest below New Salem and hunted for 
 a certain grapevine. Wild grapevines grew to a great size and length 
 in those woods. Nurtured in rich, alluvial bottomland earth, they 
 
 93 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 had, in September, dangled their dark blue fruits high in the tops 
 of the tallest sycamores and maples. Some of the vines were eight 
 inches thick at the base, much too heavy for his purposes. Their 
 trunks were covered with purplish, hairy bark, much fancied by 
 cardinals and catbirds for nest linings. 
 
 After an hour's search in the haunting silence of the early winter 
 woods, Abraham located a long, wild grapevine scrambling into 
 a sycamore near the brown river, a grapevine thin enough yet 
 amply strong to be just what he needed. He chopped it off at the 
 base and began to haul it down, hand over hand, wondering how 
 long it would be, and if he would have to splice it. 
 
 A twittering flock of bright green, wild paroquets flew out 
 of the sycamore as he pulled at the vine, and he paused to watch. 
 The beautiful little birds were bright emerald in the somber woods, 
 this vivid color accented by the carmine and orange-yellow of 
 their heads. They had been sitting side by side, cosily, along the 
 naked white sycamore boughs, where the afternoon sun warmed 
 them as they fluffed their bright feathers in the chill. They were 
 little disturbed as the grapevine snaked to earth, but only flew to 
 the next tree to arrange themselves as before, side by side, talking 
 to each other, preening, fluffing. 
 
 Abraham talked aloud to the paroquets as he worked, since 
 nobody was around to hear him and laugh at his foolishness. 
 Long ago he'd gotten into the habit of conversing with the wild 
 things when he labored alone in the forest. It made it seem more 
 sociable and friendly, less lonely and alone. 
 
 He got the vine down and stretched it on the damp, cool leaves 
 on the ground while he measured it carefully with Mentor Gra- 
 ham's foot rule. It was exactly sixty-nine feet long. He cut off the 
 small, straggly end to make it sixty-six feet, a true Gunter's chain. 
 He had read somewhere that a grapevine did just as well as an 
 expensive chain with links, because the vine, unlike rope, would 
 neither stretch nor shrink. 
 
 Abraham coiled the unwieldy thing for easier carrying and 
 trudged up the deer trail to the village. He was going to have to 
 get a horse, too. He couldn't always walk; it took too much time 
 to get to a job. There surely wasn't the cash money for one, 
 
 94 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 though, no matter how poor a specimen. But a fellow couldn't 
 always borrow one from his amiable friends; after all, there was 
 a limit to borrowing, and he'd about reached it. 
 
 "Thomas Watkins out west of town has more horses than anyone 
 around. They're mainly racers and fancy breeds, but I hear he's 
 got a few old nags, too; might sell one cheap. No harm to try. 
 Tom's near and mean as Laban, but maybe he'll loosen up for you," 
 suggested James Short helpfully. 
 
 With this advice in his ears, Abraham Lincoln hiked out the 
 west road to Tom Watkins's place and found that imposing in- 
 dividual, a heavy-browed man, as tall and dark as an Indian, busily 
 currying one of his best stallions. Thin, little Mrs. Watkins was 
 equally busy chopping wood, her breath coming in a cloud in the 
 frosty air. The ax-blade, glinting in the sun, hit the wood with a 
 steady chunking sound. A gray cat rubbed itself ingratiatingly back 
 and forth against her ankles. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln would admit to anyone that he was con- 
 siderably lacking in social graces and didn't know how to act 
 among ladies, but ax-wielding was in his line of trade and he would 
 be the first to assert that no woman could do it properly, nor 
 should she be allowed to try. 
 
 Without a glance at Thomas Watkins, who was still lovingly 
 currying the glistening stallion's hide, he went over, split up the 
 kindling for Mrs. Watkins and carried it into the house. 
 
 "Needn't to've done that," Tom Watkins commented when 
 Abraham came out again. "Old woman's fit. Got a strong back, 
 good muscles. Never bothered her none to cut up a little kindlin' 
 wood." 
 
 " 'Tisn't woman's work, really," said Lincoln equably, admiring 
 the stallion. It reminded him dimly of the Red Duke which his 
 father had had long ago, in Kentucky and Indiana, and which had 
 been sold after Nancy Lincoln died. "Chopping wood is man's 
 work, I always say. But that's neither here nor there, Tom. You 
 got a horse to sell, cheap?" 
 
 "I got no cheap horses," growled big Tom, carefully running his 
 hand down the stallion's withers. "They're all of them thorough- 
 breds. Wouldn't have no other kind." 
 
 95 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Well, yes, I know, but maybe one of those old nags out in the 
 pasture isn't doing anyone any good. I sure do need a horse mighty 
 bad so I can get my surveying work done." 
 
 "Well, that's right, there is one out there you might take. Old 
 but sound in wind and limb. A good mare. How about seventy 
 dollars?" Tom's breath rose in a white cloud in the sharp air. 
 He did not look at Abraham. 
 
 "Well, now, that's a mite too steep, Tom," said Lincoln placidly, 
 stroking the stallion's sleek head. "How about forty? And throw 
 in an old saddle and bridle." 
 
 "Forty? For a mare as good as that and a. saddle and bridle? She 
 ain't ready for no boneyard! That's a good nag out there," Tom 
 Watkins protested, hurt. "Sixty-five, including the fittings." 
 
 "Well, now, sixty-five does seem a little high, maybe. I should 
 think fifty-five might come about right and it's all I can go." 
 
 "Make it $57.50 and it's yours," snapped Tom Watkins. "You 
 drive a hard bargain, Lincoln. Hand over the money." 
 
 "Oh, I haven't got the cash," said Abe, acting surprised that 
 anyone should suspect that he had that much money at any one 
 time. "But I'll give you my note and pay you later, with interest. 
 With my surveying jobs coming along, it'll be no time before I 
 have the cash." 
 
 Thomas Watkins was not in the habit of letting anyone get 
 the better of him in a horse trade; but here he was, like it or not, 
 giving a really good old mare, not to mention an only slightly 
 mended old saddle and bridle, to this sweet-talking thimble-rigger. 
 He wasn't even demanding cash or so much down, but taking 
 Lincoln's note, as if it was worth anything, and he as poor as 
 Peter. That feller's slicker'n a peeled onion, Tom muttered to him- 
 self. Just goes to show you can't trust anyone these days. 
 
 Thomas Watkins sourly pocketed the note. Abraham Lincoln, 
 with a delicious feeling of accomplishment and affluence, re- 
 membered to examine his horse to make sure Tom Watkins hadn't 
 bamboozled him. With his bony nag saddled and bridled, Abra- 
 ham mounted and slogged off toward home. 
 
 Mentor Graham had promised to loan him some old saddlebags. 
 
 96 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 With that equipment and his compass and grapevine chain; with 
 a new, clean notebook in which to write his surveys and make his 
 maps; and with the knowledge stuffed but lately into his head, 
 Abraham Lincoln was ready. 
 
 In six weeks' time he had acquired enough skill and equipment 
 to give him a job which some men went to college to learn. He 
 was on his way to being somebody and making some money at last! 
 
 The first job of surveying, which he did carefully, with Her- 
 cules Demming carrying the other end of the grapevine chain for 
 him, was for Squire Russell Godbey. They tramped all day through 
 the briars and sand fields, measuring, scrambling through brush, 
 climbing the hard, frozen, snowless January hill. The job should 
 have paid the sum of $2.50, but Godbey was hard up just then 
 for cash, so he gave Abraham Lincoln two dressed deerskins instead. 
 
 "Buckskins like them're worth a dollar and a half a piece," God- 
 bey insisted, "so you're really makin' money! You done a good 
 job, and my thanks to you." 
 
 Two fly-blown old deer hides for a hard day's work. . . . 
 
 "Reckon the squire hasn't heard of the present asking price 
 for buckskins," Abraham said sadly. "Time was, they were worth 
 what he says, but I'll be lucky if I can get seventy-five cents for 
 the two of them. Oh, well." 
 
 He gave Hercules Demming half a dollar out of his pocket, the 
 last he had, and rode over to the Armstrongs' near Clary's Grove, 
 for supper. Hannah and Jack were always glad to see him, and he 
 could be sure of a warm meal and a bed in the loft whenever he 
 dropped in. He was tired after that long day in the winter sand hills 
 near the Sangamon, and hungry enough to eat anything the capable 
 Hannah set before him. 
 
 "I declare, Abe Lincoln, you look a sight!" exclaimed dark- 
 browed Hannah Armstrong. "You've tracked through briars and 
 brambles all the day long and now look at you — torn to tatters 
 almost, every inch of you. Didn't you notice, Abe? But no, you 
 never do." 
 
 Lincoln, who hadn't been especially aware of the fact that he 
 had ripped his pants legs and sleeves into a considerable number 
 
 97 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 of rents and tears, except when a breeze of January air penetrated, 
 glanced down at himself. 
 
 "I reckon I do look like the old man all tattered and torn, 
 don't I, young ones?" he asked the children, smiling down at them. 
 "But what's a surveyor to do? It's his business to track around in the 
 brush." 
 
 "He don't have to tear himself to ribbons!" contradicted Hannah 
 Armstrong, stirring the hominy. "You think a surveyor's got 
 nothin' better to do than tear his clothes to shreds every time he 
 goes on a job of work? I doubt me that John Calhoun does! 
 
 "Now, after supper you take off them pants and put on some 
 of Jack's — no, I guess his won't fit you, at that, with them long 
 legs of yours. I declare, you look like you must've been kin to 
 some crane out in the swamp! Well, wrap a blanket around you, 
 or somethin', and give me one of them mouse-chawed old buck- 
 skins that stingy Squire Godbey foisted on to you instead of 
 proper pay, and I'll fox them pants so they won't tear again! I'll 
 sew a facin' of hide that'll never rip, not even after the pants 
 themselves is wore out complete. You never see a tore-up deer, 
 did you? And they're all the time out in the brush. I'll do the same 
 with your jacket, too." 
 
 While Hannah was busy that evening, stitching through the 
 heavy deerskin and laying on a neat covering to the torn places 
 which she had patched from below, Abraham played with the 
 children and told them stories. After a rousing rough-and-tumble 
 which made the cabin shake, he finally put the children to bed and 
 then had a long discussion with Jack Armstrong about Andy 
 Jackson's latest misdeeds in Washington City. Hannah, frowning 
 with eyestrain in the meager candlelight, sewed on and on. 
 
 "Them pants legs must be all of Rve feet long, I do declare," 
 she cried wearily, finishing at last. "There, now you look like a 
 real surveyor and won't all the time be so ragged. Now hand over 
 them socks you got on — I declare to heaven, a pure disgrace! 
 What do you do to your socks, Abe? Just see them holes, and I 
 only mended them last week. Must've been et by rats!" 
 
 9 8 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 T 
 
 he reverend peter cartwright arrived with a roar, ex- 
 pounded with thunder and departed as with a hurricane. No spot 
 was ever quite the same after this smoke-breathing Methodist cir- 
 cuit rider came around, nor was anyone quite so comfortable, 
 nor so self-assured, when he had gone. His words were seldom 
 calm or quiet. He seemed quite unable to talk in anything less 
 than a bellow laced with strong words highly flavored with fire, 
 brimstone and eternal punishment. He could sway an audience of 
 five thousand people so that they wept, groaned, tore their hair, 
 groveled on the ground, lay rigid in fear, or went into crying 
 spells, hysterics or heart attacks. 
 
 It was Peter Cartwright's peculiar privilege to exhort the people 
 of Sangamon County to foreswear sin and enter into the protective 
 arms of the Lord. Consequently, he was the damper on many a 
 dance, the reproving eye at drinking establishments. He took the 
 joy out of life, some said. There were those, however, who felt 
 they were indeed saved from the fiery pit. After a camp meeting, 
 they went about with a transcendent sort of light around them, 
 which gradually wore off as the prairie preacher's words grew 
 somewhat dimmed by time, space and temptation. Nevertheless, 
 the Sangamon country's farthest reaches and some beyond were 
 purged and purified by his earnest, earthy, furious ministrations. 
 
 Peter Cartwright on his fat bay horse blew into New Salem 
 one mild, muddy day in March to dicker for a few items at Sam 
 
 99 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 HilPs store. He and Sam cordially disliked each other. When the 
 two were in the store together, Abraham Lincoln, often the in- 
 nocent bystander, could almost see the sparks fly and smell the 
 brimstone. 
 
 "Brother Hill," Cartwright began carefully, after he had made 
 his purchases. He spoke gently enough, his tousled mop of black 
 curls tossed every which way as he pulled off his big, dirty white, 
 broad-brimmed hat. "Have you gotten anywhere in repenting your 
 sins since I was in here last?" He scowled questioningly under his 
 shaggy brows at Sam Hill's strong-featured face. 
 
 Sam spoke briefly, holding himself in check and waiting on 
 another customer at the same time. Besides, Peter had just bought 
 two dollars' worth of merchandise and he didn't like to insult a 
 customer who paid cash. 
 
 "Reckon I've got about as far at repentin' as you've got at 
 convertin' me to be a shoutin' Methodist, Uncle Peter." 
 
 "I'm not your Uncle Peter, nor any kin, thank fortune," ex- 
 ploded Cartwright. "If I was, I'd likely feel more down in the 
 mouth than I do about your sad lack of grace and your impending 
 doom. You know what's likely to happen to you, Samuel, when you 
 go to meet your Maker?" 
 
 "No, I don't, and I doubt if you do, either, Uncle Pete." 
 
 "Don't call me Uncle, and don't call me Pete! If you can't be 
 civil, shut up!" snapped Cartwright, beginning to seethe. "/ 
 know what will happen. The Lord'll take one whiff of that odor 
 of sin a-risin' from your ornery carcass, and He'll send you on 
 down to keep company with one who's less squeamish and who's 
 more in your category. Lucifer's just a-waitin' and eager for such 
 as you, Samuel Hill! " 
 
 He was set off now and going to be hard to stop. People passing 
 by the store paused to see what the racket was about. Peter Cart- 
 wright could always draw a crowd, wherever he was. Sam Hill, 
 realizing this, let the preacher rant. It was good for business to 
 keep him going for a while, although there were limits to what 
 Sam could stand. 
 
 "Down below there where there's no escape, he'll dangle you 
 
 ioo 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 over them eternal beds of fiery coals, and there you'll be, scorched 
 and singed, screamin' for mercy and wishin' you'd have another 
 chance, but no, it'll be too late. You got to take your salvation 
 now and repent, brother, repent!" 
 
 "I ain't no brother of yours," retorted Sam furiously, keeping a 
 canny eye on the customers and detecting none who had come 
 to buy, only to listen, "and when I want to repent of what few 
 sins I figure I've committed in this life, I can do it without you 
 standin' by to hold my hand. Now I'll thank you to take your 
 purchases and git! " 
 
 Peter Cartwright, smiling sadly and patiently at Sam Hill's 
 angry face and looking around at the men who were grinning at 
 the scene, and at the women who were trying not to show their 
 own enjoyment, took up his parcels and walked out. He only 
 went as far as the porch, however. There he sat down on the edge, 
 his short legs dangling, and began to heckle Sam. The latter could 
 hear him all too plainly from inside the store. 
 
 "Poor Sam!" Cartwright sighed gustily, carefully replacing his 
 big white hat on his head. "I feel mighty sorry for that poor sinner, 
 bound for perdition at the rate he's a-goin'. He's not content to 
 head for hell under his own power, he's darin' the Almighty to help 
 him out with a boost in the right direction. Ain't that so, Sam?" 
 he called, raising his voice so that Sam could hear, though that 
 individual had no trouble in understanding everything uttered in 
 Cartwright's usually stentorious tones. Neither had Dr. Allen 
 across the street nor Dr. Regnier next door. 
 
 "Shut your trap, Cartwright!" yelled Sam. "You'll wake the 
 dead!" 
 
 "If I do, it's for their own good, and yours, too. They'll tell you 
 I'm right. Yes, it's a pity," went on the preacher in more normal 
 tones, elaborately tinged with sadness. "I used to think there wasn't 
 no hope at all for that poor sinner inside there, name of Sam Hill, 
 because I felt sure he didn't even have a soul, so far gone in evil 
 ways he was. 
 
 "But one day I discovered that he did have a soul. Do you gentle- 
 men know how I found that out?" 
 
 101 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "How, Peter?" the bystanders asked, grinning. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you," he began softly, then letting his voice gain 
 volume by inches to the climax. "One day when I was doin' busi- 
 ness in there with this poor sinner, Mr. Hill, I slyly held up a 
 quarter of a dollar to his mouth. And what do you think, that so- 
 called soul of his came a-guggling up his windpipe — glug-glug- 
 glug — to snatch that there coin before I could take it away! Yes, 
 gentlemen, Samuel Hill does have a soul — a mighty mean, tarnished, 
 green-scummed, money-hungry soul." 
 
 Inside the store, Abraham thought his business associate would 
 explode. 
 
 "Now, I've had my doubts about some of you other sinners," 
 went on Cartwright, determinedly looking with accusation about 
 him. "Either your soul is mighty puny and starved, like a deer after 
 a hard winter, or you feed it on poison and that's the surest way 
 to kill your immortal soul and head you on the road to perdition 
 that I know of. 
 
 "Now you take that Lincoln in there. Associatin' with Sam 
 Hill like he does, you'd expect him to have caught Sam's money 
 disease, and have a scrawny, corroded soul, but he ain't got that, 
 not with the way that feller can't hold on to a dollar. But look how 
 he dares Providence with them books he reads!" 
 
 "What books you mean, Mr. Cartwright?" piped up young 
 Tom Onstot. 
 
 "Them free-thought books, that's what, sonny!" snapped Cart- 
 wright, bending a severe look upon the boy. "Especially that horrid 
 work of the devil, called The Age of Reason, or some such non- 
 sensical title, by that condemned atheist, Tom Paine. If that 
 ain't the work of Satan himself, I'm not Peter Cartwright!" 
 
 "Now hold on, Cartwright," said Abraham Lincoln quietly. 
 Detaching himself from the postmaster's tall stool and emerging 
 onto the porch, he stood tall above the short, furious, prairie 
 preacher. "Aren't you assuming a lot just on the strength of your 
 own opinions? How can you be so sure you're the one that's 
 right and nobody else? You got a special communication from the 
 Lord Himself?" 
 
 I02 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Peter Cartwright for a moment was speechless, but only for a 
 moment. It was not often that anyone questioned what he said. 
 
 "Blasphemy!" he roared, banging his fist on the porch so that 
 the mud-clots jumped. "Downright blasphemy! 'Have I got a 
 special communication from the Lord!' he asks." 
 
 "Well, how can you be sure?" pursued Lincoln, thinking his 
 way along without getting ruffled, while Cartwright was boiling. 
 "And why can't someone else's beliefs be just as likely to find 
 favor above? Seems to me, with all the people and all the beliefs 
 in the world, those that think like you do, Peter Cartwright, are 
 sort of few. Does that mean all the rest of us are bound for 
 perdition? What about our founding fathers who proclaimed 
 freedom of worship in America? They didn't specify Baptists or 
 Methodists or Presbyterians or Catholics, just freedom to worship 
 God." 
 
 "Abe Lincoln," began the Reverend Cartwright, holding himself 
 in check with a tremendous effort. "You — mark — my — words! 
 You're goin' to be the first to go and one of those to stay down 
 there the longest. The world ain't the same as it used to be, when 
 men trembled in fear of the Lord and didn't dast question holy 
 writ!" 
 
 "I'd just as soon tremble in fear of my own sins and respect the 
 Lord for having the good judgment to understand human nature 
 and not knock me down for being human," said Lincoln soberly. 
 "You keep on with what you believe, Reverend, and I'll keep on 
 believing what I've thrashed out for myself over many a long and 
 wakeful night and day, and I reckon we'll both do all right. You 
 going, Peter? Give my kind regards to Mrs. Cartwright." 
 
 Peter Cartwright, with his big white hat clamped down tight 
 and low on his furrowed brow and his broad face dark with a 
 fury which he somehow couldn't find words to spit forth, got 
 aboard his fat horse and gouged his heels violently into its well- 
 padded ribs. Someone handed him his purchases, and the beast 
 started off at a startled jog trot which slowed to a walk before the 
 steed had reached the outskirts of New Salem and headed southwest 
 toward the Cartwright home. 
 
 103 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Well, I'll be hog-tied and hamstrung, if that ain't the first time 
 I ever see old Uncle Peter without ary word to say!" exploded one 
 of the loungers on the porch. 
 
 "Never thought I'd live to see the day, and him the shoutin'est 
 preacher in Illinois! He actually was speechless; and when Peter 
 Cartwright can't think of a word to say to put down a upstart 
 like Abe Lincoln and his fool idees, the end of the world is sure 
 enough at hand!" 
 
 "Land, did you see his face? It was red as a turkey's feet in 
 pokeberry time! If he don't act more calm and collected, he's 
 goin' to bust a blood vessel." 
 
 "Lincoln was right about that freedom of worship, though," 
 said another man thoughtfully. "Likely that's what corked up the 
 Reverend thataway. He'd naught to come back with on a subject 
 like that!" 
 
 "I'm sorry I made him mad," said Abraham regretfully, thinking 
 back on the distasteful incident. "But after all, it's not his business 
 how I think, what I think, what I read or what I believe! I figure 
 it's a touchy business to question and pry and dig into a man's pri- 
 vate religion, then rant and rail at him for holding to what he be- 
 lieves." 
 
 "You're right there, Lincoln," asserted Sam Hill, who still 
 burned from the heckling administered by Cartwright. "He needed 
 to be taken down a peg! " 
 
 "I'm sorry I sent him off like that, though," added Abraham. 
 "It sure doesn't seem quite right for old Peter to go so quietly. 
 You think he was sick?" 
 
 "Quiet?" exploded Nelson Alley. "That feller was about as 
 quiet as a tornado comin' acrost the prairie, only it was all pent 
 up inside of him. Wait till he runs afoul of some sinner on the road 
 towards home, and I bet he busts out all over the countryside, 
 preachin' his fire and brimstone again till you can hear him clear to 
 Athens!" 
 
 104 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 I 
 
 n the spring of 1 834, Abraham Lincoln made his plans to run 
 again as candidate for the State Legislature. His 1832 defeat was 
 somewhat dimmed by time; the hurt was not so great, the blow to 
 his confidence eased. He felt that he had grown up a good deal 
 since that other campaign. Perhaps this time things would be 
 different. 
 
 To his astonishment, both Democrats and Whigs backed him. 
 To Lincoln, this did not seem quite honest; it was not legal, or 
 something. However, after consultation with John Todd Stuart, 
 who assured him that he was not only honest but lucky, he ac- 
 cepted the partial aid of the opposition with a thankful, if puzzled, 
 heart. 
 
 It had all come about oddly enough, he thought. Judge Bowling 
 Green had started it. 
 
 "Abe, son, if you're going to win that election, you're going to 
 have to convert some of the Democrats to your side. There aren't 
 enough Whigs in Sangamon County to swing it," the portly 
 squire warned, folding his plump hands over his large and protrud- 
 ing front expansion. 
 
 "Well, how?" asked Abraham, willing to listen and learn. 
 
 "I, for one, as a Democrat, will do my best," promised the 
 magistrate. "Plenty of 'milk-and-cider' Democrats in the bushes; 
 they're easy enough to bring over to your side if you butter up 
 to them right. Even some of the 'whole-hog' Jackson men might 
 be persuaded . . ." 
 
 105 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 So, as Squire Green was electioneering, "beating the bushes," 
 as he put it, to roust out the undecided Democrats to vote Whig, 
 a party of Democrats came to see Lincoln. 
 
 "Sir, we propose to eliminate two of our weaker Democratic 
 candidates, leaving only the Honorable Richard Quinton, and come 
 to your support. We feel you are more worthy than the men on 
 our side, all but Mr. Quinton, sir." 
 
 "Well, now, that's mighty handsome of you gentlemen," said 
 Lincoln cautiously, dazzled but somewhat confused and wary at 
 this friendliness from the enemy. 
 
 "That is," they continued blandly, "if you will help us squeeze 
 out John Stuart in the race for the Legislature." 
 
 There it was, the possum in the hayrick, the sandbur under the 
 saddle. They wanted something in return for their favors. Which 
 was only natural among politicians, Abraham figured. He looked 
 noncommittal, an art he had perfected to some degree of skill. His 
 bony face expressed nothing. 
 
 "I'll have to give it some thought, gentlemen. I'll let you know." 
 
 "Don't think too long, Lincoln," they warned, somewhat dis- 
 gruntled that he had not at once leaped to their offer. "We might 
 get tired waiting and change our minds!" 
 
 Abraham lost little time in riding over to Springfield. John Todd 
 Stuart was in his office. 
 
 "Stuart, they're out to get you! They want me to help crowd 
 you out! If this is politics — then I'm through with it!" 
 
 John Todd Stuart smiled and laid a calming hand on Lincoln's 
 agitated shoulder. 
 
 "Yes, that's politics, Lincoln. But you stay with it. Now I'll tell 
 you what to do — " 
 
 After the conference, Abraham Lincoln, feeling exhilarated with 
 the spirit of battle, rode back to New Salem. 
 
 He was to dicker with the Democrats, string along with them, 
 while Stuart, with infinite strategy, directed the Whig campaign 
 against that single fighting Democrat, Mr. Quinton. 
 
 106 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 It was a good fight and a hot one. And on election day, it was 
 Abraham Lincoln who won by an overwhelming vote — at least 
 it overwhelmed him. He polled second to the largest number of 
 votes for the four candidates elected. John Stuart had had more 
 trouble than he had expected in beating Richard Quinton, and 
 had only managed to get in by the narrowest of margins. 
 
 Lincoln, however, had won so easily that he could scarcely 
 credit his good fortune, and his gratitude for the kindness of his 
 fellow men made him glow. One day he was just a poor surveyor, 
 postmaster, store clerk, lying on the ground with his feet propped 
 against a tree, while the ants crawled up his pants leg, as he studied 
 a law book loaned him by John Stuart. 
 
 The next day he was in politics, elected as a lawmaker for the 
 august State of Illinois, an honorable legislator, representative from 
 the largest county in the state. He — the Honorable Abraham Lin- 
 coln of New Salem, no less! 
 
 And one day he was an object of contempt as Squire Godbey, 
 seeing him evidently wasting valuable time, had asked what he was 
 doing, if anything. 
 
 "Why, I'm studying law, Squire," he had said placidly, not look- 
 ing up. 
 
 "Law! My good heavenly day! Laivl" And in disgust, Godbey 
 had departed. 
 
 Next day, though, it was: 
 
 "How-do, Mr. Lincoln, congratulations, sir!" 
 
 Oh, it made a difference, a big and lovely difference. All of a 
 sudden he, Abraham Lincoln, was someone. It was all very heady 
 and pleasant. It scared him, too. All he had to do now was to live 
 up to the confidence people had placed in him, and, after all, what 
 did he know about being a legislator! 
 
 In order to learn to do so with some measure of skill, he took 
 John Stuart's suggestion. 
 
 "I'd go in for the law, if I were you, Lincoln," the handsome 
 young Springfield lawyer, only two years older than Lincoln, had 
 said one day when Abraham was deploring his lack of knowledge 
 to equip him to be a lawmaker. 
 
 107 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "The principles of justice and truth which you'll learn in that 
 profession will help you in the Legislature, and you'll have a 
 profitable career during the remainder of the year and all the 
 rest of your life. You've already some background in law. You 
 say you got a smattering of it back in Indiana and in New Salem, 
 too. I hear you've been making out papers and forms and deeds for 
 people, and that certainly takes some knowledge of law!" 
 
 "Well, I do just a little. I don't charge for my services though. 
 Just chalk 'em up to experience." 
 
 "You come over to my office and borrow all the books you 
 need; I'll suggest certain ones you'll get the most from. You go 
 into law, Lincoln, and if you're as good at it as I think you will be, 
 you can come in as my partner when Dummer leaves." 
 
 Well, that honor alone was incentive enough. Abe lived, ate, 
 drank and thought little else but law, just as he had lived, eaten, 
 drunk and thought higher mathematics and surveying when he had 
 needed to learn them. There was nothing halfway about him when 
 he wanted to absorb something. 
 
 For a while, however, it seemed that he would need all his 
 knowledge of law to get himself out of his own financial difficul- 
 ties. Those debts of his were suddenly coming to howl like a 
 hungry prairie wolf on his doorstep. 
 
 One sweet, fair day, back in April, 1834, when it would seem 
 that surely nothing unpleasant could ever happen again in such a 
 blossoming, greening, singing, fragrant world, the preliminary 
 blow had fallen. Reuben Radford had assigned to one Peter Van 
 Bergen of Springfield a part interest in the Lincoln-Berry note, 
 for the balance of the sum owing on the contents of the store which 
 they had bought from Radford and Billy Greene. Peter Van 
 Bergen, a testy Teuton, a deputy land agent and speculator in 
 real estate, had no patience with waiting around for his money. 
 Mr. Van Bergen, therefore, brought suit for immediate payment. 
 
 If there was anything in the world which was impossible for 
 Abraham Lincoln and William Berry, it was immediate payment on 
 anything. 
 
 108 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 The sum was $204.82. Since William Greene was the original 
 signer of the note, long ago on that bitter January day when the 
 Clary's Grove boys had wrecked Reuben Radford's store, it was 
 he alone, at first, who was sued. Greene was considerably irked 
 to be charged with a note in which he now had no part. So he in 
 turn sued his friends, Lincoln and Berry. 
 
 Nothing more came of it, then, except to transfer responsibility 
 of the debt until October. This was presumably considered to be 
 time enough for the former partners to raise the required cash. 
 However, the store was growing steadily less prosperous for 
 William Berry, who was ill and who still drank too much. Lincoln 
 hadn't earned much with his surveying and his postmaster's job. 
 The time finally arrived in the autumn when the issue could no 
 longer be evaded. 
 
 In desperation, the two consulted. 
 
 "We just haven't enough money between us to pay," mourned 
 Abraham Lincoln, staring at Bill's floor which badly needed sweep- 
 ing. "And we have even fewer assets. I don't know what to do next. 
 It's like pounding sand down a rat hole to try and pay our debt 
 off in the dribbles we have." 
 
 "I think Ell have a drink," said Bill Berry, his hand trembling 
 violently as he poured out a glassful for himself. 
 
 "Well, there's my horse," he went on gloomily. A fit of cough- 
 ing doubled him over in pain and stopped what he was saying. 
 
 "Yes, your horse, and mine, too," added Lincoln, "though mine 
 isn't paid for, and I guess it can't be turned in legally. I reckon 
 Tom Watkins'll be down on me like a duck on a June bug for his 
 own money pretty soon, when he hears the others are gathering 
 around with their hands out. Bill," he added pityingly, "you 
 ought to do something for that cough of yours. It sounds bad. 
 Worse than it did. Did you see Doctor Allen-?" 
 
 "Yes, and Doc Regnier, and Doctor Henry in Springfield. They 
 can't help me. Nobody can," added Bill somberly. "Nothing ex- 
 cept what I'm drinking, for a little while, anyway." 
 
 William Berry did not look at Abraham, but kept his shaking 
 hands clutched around his glass. Abraham noted that Bill was 
 
 109 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 growing thinner and his eye-sockets looked dark and hollow, his 
 face without color. 
 
 "There's nothing for you to do but sell out, I reckon," Lincoln 
 said, going back to the other subject. "You haven't much left, I 
 guess. As for me, I reckon about all I own personally is my survey- 
 ing instruments. They might bring in a little cash." 
 
 "Oh, no, Lincoln, you can't do that!" cried his former partner, 
 aghast. "You won't have any way to make a living without those 
 instruments!" Bill looked shocked. 
 
 "Can't be helped," Abraham replied grimly. "I'm not one to live 
 in luxury when my creditors are crying for their just dues." 
 
 When the sale took place, enough was realized to satisfy Van 
 Bergen. Berry had sold his horse for additional cash. Billy Greene 
 donated one of his toward raising more money. 
 
 And Abraham Lincoln, with despair in his soul, had seen his 
 surveying instruments lying on the counter, waiting for a buyer, 
 He couldn't bear to watch any longer. He went out into the 
 cool, bright, lovely autumn morning. 
 
 Skeins of snow geese were patterning their long streamers 
 over New Salem. He watched them flash white with black wing- 
 tips in a wavy sort of flight, high and serene and untroubled, against 
 a cobalt sky, until they were beyond the crimson and orange 
 maples on the hills to the south. The fairy tinkling of distant 
 goose voices came down like bells to him. 
 
 He took a brief walk in the glowing woods and felt more calm. 
 When he went back into the store, the sale was over, the people 
 gone. The compass, grapevine chain and saddlebags, however, still 
 lay on the dusty, splintery counter. Probably nobody had wanted 
 them. 
 
 Kindly James Short, as always neatly turned out and precise, 
 stepped into the store. He smiled at Abraham's troubled, unhappy 
 face. 
 
 "Here they are, Abe," he said, moving forward to lay his hand 
 on the compass. "I thought you'd never come. I bid them in. 
 They're all yours again." 
 
 "Jimmy!" Abraham caught the little man's firm hands, then 
 
 no 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 almost hugged him. "I'll pay you back if it's the last thing I ever 
 do!" 
 
 "No hurry, Lincoln. No hurry. It was a pleasure to do it. 
 Couldn't let you lose those things, especially since I've got a job 
 of surveying coming up myself soon, and I'll need the best 
 surveyor in Sangamon County to do it for me!" 
 
 But other creditors, like buzzards, caught the smell of payments 
 in the air and gathered around for their share, alarmed lest the mea- 
 ger funds be exhausted before they had a chance. 
 
 Tom Watkins was one of these. 
 
 "He ain't never paid me for that there horse I give him. A mighty 
 good mare and a good saddle and bridle, too, by gum. I aim to get 
 me my money whilst he's still got some. I ain't goin' to see that 
 nag of mine go to pay someone else's account and from what I 
 been hearin', them two is turnin' in everything they got." 
 
 Tom Watkins thereupon hastily sued Lincoln in New Salem, to 
 get ahead of the slower courts of law in Springfield. Somehow, 
 though, Abraham Lincoln scraped up the $57.50 he owed Watkins. 
 
 And there he was, stripped. Abraham Lincoln stood literally 
 penniless, with only the clothes on his back, a few battered books 
 and his surveying instruments and old horse his sole possessions in 
 life. It was October, 1834. 
 
 Things certainly would have to improve before November. 
 At that time, he would be going to Vandalia as a legislator, and 
 he would have to appear in something other than what he stood 
 in after he'd paid his debts. He would need decent clothes; also 
 transportation, unless he walked all the way; board and room, too, 
 if he cared to eat and sleep while there. Besides, he knew that a 
 certain dignity was owing to the position to which he had been 
 elected. 
 
 "Well, Lincoln," said Coleman Smoot one day, when Abraham 
 told him some of his difficulties. "I voted for you in August, so 
 I reckon I can take on the responsibility and honor of seein' that 
 you look decent to assume the job. I got some extra cash I ain't 
 needin' for a while. I'll loan it out to you, and you can pay me when 
 
 in 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 you get your money from your work in Vandalia." 
 
 "Smoot, that's right handsome of you!" exclaimed Lincoln, 
 beaming. "I don't know what I'd do without my friends in New 
 Salem. Here, I'll sign a note and you'll have your money next 
 spring when I get back." 
 
 Coleman Smoot loaned him two hundred dollars. It seemed to 
 Lincoln that he no sooner got out of one debt before he was up 
 to his neck in another, but at least he had some real money loom- 
 ing in the offing. Legislators were paid three dollars a day, plus 
 the cost of their transportation. A three-months' term in the 
 Legislature would amount to a good deal, he figured. 
 
 112 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 0, 
 
 n a foggy November day in 1834, the rattling stagecoach 
 from Springfield rolled and jounced over the ruts of the long and 
 tiresome road south to Vandalia, Illinois. The horses' hoofs thudded 
 on heavy clods, not yet frozen hard, the wheels groaned through 
 mud holes. The creaking coach rolled from side to side, throwing 
 its occupants against each other and sending their luggage, lodged 
 on the roof, skidding against the retaining rack and back again. 
 Inside the coach were two senators and four legislators. Of the 
 six, John Todd Stuart and Abraham Lincoln were tallest. 
 
 The two talked absorbedly, meanwhile holding on to the straps 
 to keep from going in a heap when the coach lurched. Stuart 
 was elegant, noble of bearing and said to be the handsomest man in 
 Illinois. He was a knowing and seasoned legislator and politician. 
 His companion, Lincoln, was not so well dressed, certainly not so 
 handsome nor so confident. He was thankful that Stuart had taken 
 him on as his protege and would show him how to act and get 
 around in Vandalia and the capitol building's august halls. It was 
 certainly all a new and strange world to the man from New Salem 
 who, a drifter and day laborer, had arrived in a cottonwood canoe 
 three years earlier. He might not be any richer than he was then, 
 but he knew he was different, better educated, better equipped in 
 his mind to meet the challenges which lay ahead. 
 
 "Yes, Vandalia's been the state capital since 18 19, a year after 
 Illinois became a state," Stuart was saying on the second day, as 
 the smoking chimneys of the capital loomed far ahead. "Kaskaskia 
 
 113 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 had it first because it was the old French territorial capital since 
 1700, but it wouldn't do for long. The Mississippi evidently was 
 bent on eating it up and depositing the capital in the water! " 
 
 Lincoln laughed. He knew that old river and what it could do. 
 
 "I never did know why they chose the place they did, though," 
 Lincoln said. "Of all the places in Illinois, why Vandalia?" 
 
 "Well, they wanted to move the capital inland and farther 
 north, trying to keep up with the trend of population. Still, they 
 didn't want to get away from contact with the Mississippi, so they 
 chose a bluff-top above the Kaskaskia River. When it was navi- 
 gable, which wasn't too often, it turned out, you could take a boat 
 below the town and go down to the Mississippi and then up to St. 
 Louis or down to New Orleans. Besides, Vandalia is situated where 
 the National Road is coming through from Washington City to 
 the Mississippi, and that's important, too." 
 
 "Why the name?" 
 
 "Vandalia? Who knows?" John Stuart's handsome face broke 
 into a laugh. "Likely somebody's wife fancied the name and they 
 used it because she insisted!" 
 
 "You mean it wasn't a town before it was the capital?" Lincoln 
 asked slowly. He realized he had somehow neglected a point 
 in the history of his adopted state. 
 
 "No, they built a new town to be the capital. It wasn't much 
 at first, just a cluster of log cabins and a far from impressive 
 capitol building. Wait till you see it!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "That State House is a firetrap and a hazard to life and limb, 
 wouldn't you agree, gentlemen?" queried Stuart, turning for 
 confirmation to the other legislators in the coach, who nodded 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Yes, I look for it to fall in on us some time when we've got 
 an especially noisy speaker shouting his points!" replied William 
 Carpenter. "Every now and then, in fact, plaster breaks loose and 
 showers down. The stairs creak alarmingly, and how those upper 
 floors hold the men and benches of the Senate chambers I do not 
 see!" 
 
 114 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Those brick walls actually bulge in places," added John 
 Dawson. "I hear they've had to be propped up again. It's a dis- 
 grace to Illinois and the nation to have a State House like that!" 
 
 "They say they've improved it since last term by opening the 
 first floor more," said Stuart, "but they may have weakened it by 
 taking out the supporting walls. I don't know. I only know that 
 we are going to have to do something about it this session or next, 
 before there's a calamity and we're all buried alive in a general 
 collapse!" 
 
 John Stuart laughed, but he was serious about the matter and 
 so were the others. Something would have to be done, and soon. 
 
 "What we really need," Stuart added, "is to move the capital 
 to another place more centrally located. Vandalia was only to 
 have it for twenty years, anyway, with an option to continue for 
 another twenty, if it remained at the center of population." 
 
 The stage driver gave his tired horses a cut with the whip and 
 bowled in high style into Vandalia's main street. 
 
 Stuart and Lincoln took a room at the Vandalia Inn, which 
 was about as comfortable, Stuart said, as any in that tavern-filled 
 town. Already, many of the representatives and senators, as well as 
 members of the supreme court had arrived. Many had brought 
 their wives, and these had come with great trunks and bulging 
 portmanteaux containing their best finery to impress the other 
 lawmakers' wives at the winter's social affairs. 
 
 "The ladies try to make Vandalia's social season as gay and 
 fine as any in New Orleans or Nashville, but I'm afraid Vandalia 
 will never be able to compete with those centers of culture and 
 delight! Still, the ladies, God bless 'em, have done a lot to make 
 the General Assembly bearable, and if you stumble over their 
 trunks in the hall — as now — " added Stuart, stepping high over a 
 heap of luggage which just had been deposited in the dark hall of 
 the inn, "you just smile and are glad that such things have come 
 to the frontier. In fact, you can hardly call us a frontier nowadays, 
 Lincoln. And did I tell you that you look mighty spruce yourself?" 
 
 Abraham Lincoln in some pride agreed that he did look mighty 
 
 ii5 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 spruce. He had on his first suit of tailor-made clothes, and the 
 glory of his attire, topped with a tall silk hat, caused him now 
 and again to look down his imposing black length with consider- 
 able awe and wonderment that this should be he. He had always 
 worn coarse butternut jeans, homespuns, linsey pants, and tow- 
 linen stuff that pricked and shrunk. He might start out with pants 
 and coat which came decently down his bony wrists and long 
 legs to his shoe tops, but in a little while, somehow, they always 
 looked high-water and fit him all wrong. Not that he minded. 
 How he appeared seldom bothered him. Ugly as he was, what was 
 the use in dressing fancy? But when he was elected to the Legis- 
 lature, he didn't need John Todd Stuart, in his elegant broad- 
 cloth, stock and silk hat, to tell him that he'd have to get something 
 a trifle better to wear. 
 
 With the funds borrowed from Coleman Smoot, he went to 
 Springfield and to a tailor whom Stuart recommended, where 
 Lincoln was carefully measured and his broad-shouldered frame 
 fitted as well as the somewhat perplexed tailor could manage. 
 Abraham Lincoln paid out sixty dollars, ultimately, for the finished 
 suit. 
 
 He felt a bit uncomfortable, if elegant, in Vandalia, with his 
 fine black, tight-fitting, long-enough trousers and flowered waist- 
 coat, and the long black coat flaring below his hips. A high black 
 stock was wound around and around his neck to hold his white 
 collar fashionably high and flared, though it worried him, for- 
 ever poking him in the cheek or rasping his ears. He wished he 
 could look as easy and fine as Stuart did, but then, Stuart had 
 been brought up in a life of elegance in Kentucky and had known 
 how to dress from the beginning. No doubt, Abe figured with an 
 inner grin, John Stuart had been elegant in his cradle! 
 
 Lincoln and Stuart went downstairs to join the others. The 
 main room of the Vandalia Inn was seething with men, smoke and 
 talk. Abraham Lincoln, who liked people, loved the sound and 
 the look of the place, yet he was thankful he had Stuart to in- 
 troduce him, to get started knowing a few people, just as an 
 entering wedge. From then on, he'd be mostly on his own, but 
 
 116 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 he could handle that. He had always found it easy to make friends. 
 
 The two tall men from Sangamon moved in on a group sitting 
 around a scarred deal table where they were finishing supper. 
 
 "Ah, how do you do, gentlemen?" put in courtly John Stuart, 
 laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of one of the seated 
 men. "Now that the delegation from Sangamon has arrived, let the 
 proceedings begin!" 
 
 "Stuart! Welcome back! Here, pull up a chair and join us," 
 cried Ninian Edwards. "The girl hasn't brought the pudding yet, 
 and if it isn't any better than the rest of the meal, no one will 
 object if she never brings it! No doubt it's the best Vandalia can 
 offer, however. Have you dined, Stuart?" 
 
 John Stuart shook his head. "Gentlemen," he said in his cultured, 
 compelling, well modulated voice which never had to shout for 
 attention. "Gentlemen, I here present to you our new member 
 from Sangamon, my good friend and constituent, Abraham Lin- 
 coln." 
 
 Abraham's big hand shot out to shake the hands of the men 
 around the table, who rose to greet him. They were appraising 
 him with experienced eyes. A raw, crude young man, no style, no 
 proper manners and likely few brains, he felt they were thinking. 
 
 Ninian Wirt Edwards, son of the territorial governor of Illinois, 
 seeking election as attorney-general, rose and bowed over Lincoln's 
 big paw. 
 
 "Charmed, Mr. Lincoln," said Mr. Edwards smoothly, his own 
 lily-white palm feeling the callouses on the New Salem hand 
 gripping his with a confoundedly firm clasp. "Welcome to our 
 select throng!" 
 
 "And this is Orville Browning of Quincy, who is also a Whig 
 and my good friend, Lincoln," went on Stuart, "and beside him, 
 as you know, is John Dawson who rode down here with us, and Mr. 
 Carpenter, and this gentleman sitting beside Mr. Dawson is Gen- 
 eral William Lee Davidson Ewing, our acting governor. General 
 Ewing, Mr. Lincoln of Sangamon." 
 
 The general bowed. He eyed Lincoln peculiarly as he sat down 
 again, murmuring polite amenities. Abraham also eyed General 
 
 117 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Ewing with some inward alarm. No wonder the acting governor 
 looked so oddly at him! Abraham Lincoln remembered with some 
 trepidation a certain hot Fourth of July in 1830. It was back in 
 Decatur, when Mr. Posey and General Ewing were Independence 
 Day speakers who were campaigning for themselves at the same 
 time. 
 
 He remembered their not too brilliant speeches and how the 
 frontier crowd had been irked because the two had either for- 
 gotten or had chosen to ignore the custom of the politician's treat- 
 ing the crowd to drinks. He recalled how the crowd had then 
 hailed him, Abraham Lincoln, young and gawky and ignorant, 
 not long in Illinois from Indiana, and had gotten him up on a 
 stump to talk, too. 
 
 He was only twenty-one at the time, and he burned now as he 
 recalled how pompous he must have sounded, airing his valued 
 opinions about river improvements and navigation of the Sangamon 
 as if he were an authority, and how the applause for him had been 
 embarrassingly greater, somehow, than for the estimable Mr. 
 Posey and General Ewing. 
 
 Maybe the general didn't remember. Lincoln fervently hoped 
 he did not and never would connect this self-consciously dig- 
 nified Sangamon County representative in his first tailor-made 
 suit with the blab-mouthed youth in butternut jeans and no shoes 
 standing on a stump over in Decatur. 
 
 The general, whose memory was long, had not forgotten, how- 
 ever. 
 
 "I see that you have come up in the world, Mr. Lincoln. My 
 congratulations!" And he smiled a trifle sarcastically as he turned 
 back to the pudding which the frowsy, overworked little servant 
 girl had plumped down in front of him. 
 
 "What does General Ewing mean by that, Mr. Lincoln?" asked 
 Ninian Edwards with a smile, applying spoon to pudding. He 
 scented something interesting between the two. 
 
 "Well — ah — well, you see — some time ago General Ewing and 
 I were speakers on the same, ah, platform, so to speak. I believe, 
 ah — ahem — I think what he refers to is the fact that, on that 
 
 118 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 auspicious occasion, the general wore shoes and, uh — well, I did 
 not! I had on an old calico shirt and butternut pants that went half- 
 way down my calf and then stopped short — got discouraged with 
 so far to go, no doubt. The general gave a good speech; but I 
 can't say I exactly shone. I am honored tonight to dine at the same 
 table with General Ewing." 
 
 With this situation neatly disposed of, the laughter subsiding, 
 Abraham settled down to absently devouring his supper. He dis- 
 covered that part of the meal consisted of stewed pumpkin, as 
 well as a bowl of fried pumpkin chips, and he was not particularly 
 fond of either of them. He had eaten too much pumpkin in a 
 poverty-stricken lifetime. Pushing away the bowl of pumpkin 
 chips, he said drily: 
 
 "This puts me in mind of the preacher up our way who got 
 more than his fill of this noble fruit. This parson had been preach- 
 ing to folk in the Pecan Bottoms, a mighty poor and sandy region 
 down the Sangamon from New Salem. At house after house the 
 women fed him pumpkin — stewed, fried, baked, as pudding, as 
 soup, as pie or as each female had decided to cook it that day. 
 He began to get mighty tired of the stuff ." 
 
 The men- around the table were listening. After Lincoln's 
 adept parrying of General Ewing's snobbishness, they were inter- 
 ested in what he might say next. There was a neat spice to the way 
 this backwoodsman talked. 
 
 "Well," Lincoln went on, noting the interest, "one day the 
 preacher was asked to say grace before dinner, and, casting his 
 experienced eye over the table fittings, he commenced his prayer 
 thusly: 
 
 " 'And now, Lord, may it please Thee to blast the pumpkin 
 crop, for we cannot perform our work on such a diet!' Which is 
 the way I feel about it, too, I reckon!" 
 
 As he finished his supper, Abraham listened intently to the 
 political conversations flowing around him. It was a complicated 
 business, politics, but one of the most fascinating things he had 
 ever listened to or been a part of. Even after his somewhat in- 
 
 119 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 auspicious beginning, he could hardly wait to get going. 
 
 The talk abruptly died down. Ninian Edwards nudged John 
 Stuart as an extraordinarily short, stout, handsome young man 
 walked pompously and with poise through the crowded room and 
 up the staircase. 
 
 "He's here," Edwards sneered. "Let's everyone know it, too." 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Lincoln, interested that such a small man 
 should cause such a great one as Ninian Edwards a moment's 
 notice. 
 
 "That's Stephen A. Douglas," put in Stuart. "He's the thorn 
 in our flesh, though we rather like the fellow in spite of it. Wants 
 to be state's attorney, and he takes the floor whenever there 
 is half an opening. Douglas's a strong politician, and if a young 
 schoolteacher can rise in the world by spouting his own merits, 
 then I say let him get on with it. How else can you manage? Can't 
 always wait for your friends to pipe up loudly enough to make 
 the right people hear! I predict Douglas will go a long way in spite 
 of his being a Democrat!" 
 
 The laughter went around the table; then the conversation 
 turned to other matters, supper was cleared, cigars were smoked, 
 drinks were brought, and hour after hour the men who would meet 
 next day on the Senate or House floors were thrashing out the 
 problems which lay ahead. Lincoln found out that more expert 
 lobbying took place over the tables of Vandalia Inn, the Charter 
 Tavern and other hostelries than actually took place in the drafty, 
 cold, poorly built State House. 
 
 John Stuart, still feeling responsible for the new member from 
 Sangamon, went next morning with him up the steps of the 
 capitol building and they entered the large, bare chamber together. 
 It was milling with representatives, all of them dressed in tight 
 trousers and long black coats with broad lapels, some of them of 
 black satin or velvet. Abraham Lincoln, feeling uncomfortable, 
 yet, for once in his life, suitably garbed, was thankful he hadn't 
 been forced to wear his rough frontier clothes. 
 
 I20 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 The House of Representatives was undeniably large and bare. 
 It had no degree of elegance. Members were to sit three to a table, 
 and already were drawing lots for seats. The Speaker of the House 
 sat on a raised platform, but his only other point of distinction 
 was that he had his table to himself and his inkstand was made of 
 pewter, while those of the representatives were made of common 
 cork. 
 
 The rest of the room was equally as plain and undistinguished. 
 There were boxes of sand to accommodate those who chewed 
 tobacco. The cold, barnlike space was inadequately heated with a 
 fireplace at one end and a stove at the other. If you sat near either 
 one, Abraham found, you roasted in your tight trousers and fancy 
 coat and high-collared shirt, or, if you sat too far from either 
 source of heat, you froze and wished for a buffalo robe and a foot- 
 warmer. 
 
 For dark winter days and night sessions, there were candles 
 to make just enough light to see by, and no more. In a corner was 
 a tin bucket filled with water, with a dipper and three tin cups, 
 to relieve the thirst of the dozens of assembled lawmakers. 
 
 "I see we've had some improvement there," spoke up John 
 Stuart with a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "We used to have 
 only one tin cup for the lot of us! " 
 
 When the Speaker briskly rapped his gavel at ten o'clock that 
 first morning and the invocation was uttered in a spirit of reverence 
 due the occasion, most of the members were in their seats. The 
 session was about to begin. The gabble of talk died down as the 
 preliminary business got underway. Lincoln, with Stuart beside 
 him, paid rapt attention, wondering when the important business of 
 lawmaking should begin. He had planned to observe and learn and 
 to keep his mouth shut until he knew the procedure of things, 
 before chancing the occasion of making an abject fool of himself 
 by piping up too soon. 
 
 Despite his careful attention, however, matters at hand seemed 
 appallingly unimportant. A few temporary officials were appointed. 
 
 121 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 There was a roll call for a new Speaker, which gave James Semple 
 the majority, but Semple was a Jacksonian so Stuart and Lincoln, 
 staunch Whigs, voted for his rival. The latter, although not a true 
 Whig, was nevertheless considered less than a "whole-hog" Jack- 
 son man, which was something in his favor, anyway. No Whig was 
 put up; there were only seventeen Clay men on the floor and they 
 felt they were not strong enough as a group to override the heavy 
 Jackson vote. 
 
 The strategy, Stuart whispered to Lincoln, was to curry favor 
 with the "milk-and-cider" Democrats, insinuate themselves into 
 the good graces of these milder Jacksonians and perhaps, in the 
 final vote, gain power for coming bills by weaning these men over 
 to the Whig camp. This was meaty stuff, the sort of politics Lincoln 
 had been anticipating, and he loved it. 
 
 But instead of anything further ensuing along this enthralling 
 line of attack, some minor officials were selected. The post of 
 doorkeeper required seven separate and tiring ballots before one 
 was chosen for that doubtfully stimulating job. There was a small 
 amount of unimportant business which was perfunctorily attended 
 to, while members sat back, crossed their tightly trousered knees 
 and yawned. Several actually went to sleep. Others speculated as 
 to whether the taverns and inns would serve as many game dinners 
 as they had during the previous session, and if the meals in general 
 would be better or worse. 
 
 "Venison and prairie chicken every night like last time," Abra- 
 ham heard a dignified legislator whisper loudly behind him, "is too 
 much for anyone to endure. Why can't they give us a civilized 
 meal once in a while — roast beef, roast pork, kidney pie, things 
 like that? After all, this isn't the frontier! " 
 
 Abraham, in whose present life food was of minor importance, 
 thought this was a trifling comment at a time of so great import. 
 While he was musing on the matter, the sharp rapping of the gavel 
 announced that the meeting had adjourned. 
 
 Feeling somehow cheated, Abraham Lincoln got up with John 
 Stuart. He was not sure what he had expected, but this sudden 
 termination of a not impressive first meeting of the Seventh Gen- 
 
 122 
 
PETER CARTWRIGHT ... HIS BROAD FACE DARK WITH FURY . . . GOT ABOARD HIS FAT 
 HORSE AND GOUGED HIS HEELS INTO ITS WELL-PADDED RIBS. 
 
^M \OVxv . \\ill jA 
 
 life 
 
 ~-^w 
 
 
 SQUIRE GODBEY, SEEING HIM EVIDENTLY WASTING VALUABLE TIME, HAD ASKED WHAT 
 HE WAS DOING, IF ANYTHING. "WHY, l'M STUDYING LAW, SQUIRE," ABRAHAM HAD 
 
 SAID PLACIDLY. 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 eral Assembly was a decided letdown. 
 
 The remainder of the day and evening, however, was spent at 
 the Vandalia Inn, where he and Stuart joined other legislators 
 in worrying about the various problems about to come up before 
 the House, and in planning the strategy for presentation of certain 
 bills. Abraham Lincoln himself had several minor bills of his own 
 in mind which he had promised the Sangamon people to put 
 through if he possibly could, but he thought he would wait a while 
 to learn the procedure before offering his ideas. 
 
 On Thursday, Abraham Lincoln's name was put on a Committee 
 of Public Accounts and Expenditures. It was the tenth committee 
 on a list of eleven, and he felt he was included simply because they 
 had to put him on something. He thought it slightly ironical, 
 though, that he, a man of poverty, with many debts still unpaid, 
 should be put on a financial committee! Hah! If they only knew. 
 
 On Friday morning, December 5, after the House had turned 
 down the resolution of a member who wanted the powers of local 
 justices enlarged, Mr. Lincoln of Sangamon cleared his throat, 
 addressed the Speaker, was given the floor, and, with an un- 
 pleasant trembling in his knees, he presented his intention to intro- 
 duce his first bill. He had timed this neatly, he felt, since his bill 
 was calculated to limit the jurisdiction of justices of the peace, as 
 contrasted with the preceding bill enlarging their powers. 
 
 By the next week, Abraham was in the thick of it. It was in his 
 blood now, all the manipulation of men and ideas, the long hours 
 at night, the careful timing of presentation of ideas and bills. He 
 introduced his second bill. This was "an act to authorize Samuel 
 Musick to build a toll bridge across Salt Creek in Sangamon 
 County." It was of no great interest or import to the majority of 
 the members of the House of Representatives, but was highly 
 important to one Samuel Musick and to the people of Sangamon 
 County who would use his bridge to get across Salt Creek, whereas 
 they had had to ferry before. By its very state-wide insignificance, 
 he felt, it might get through when the bill came up for voting later 
 on. 
 
 i 2 3 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 During his days of watching and listening, of learning and of 
 evaluating what he watched and heard and learned, Lincoln felt 
 he had discovered a way in which legislation could be speeded up 
 and made more efficient. He had noted that endless amendments to 
 bills after they had been read several times clogged proceedings 
 and often left the ultimately approved bill quite changed from 
 what its originator had intended. 
 
 When he had been ten whole days in the State Legislature, 
 therefore, Mr. Lincoln of Sangamon stood up to propose his well- 
 considered revision to the House rules — "that it shall not be in 
 order to offer amendments to any bill, after its third reading." 
 
 In an astonishingly thick silence, he sat down. Inwardly glowing, 
 because he felt he had indeed hit upon something which would 
 attract favorable attention to himself as a freshman lawmaker 
 and advance his career notably, he could not see why no one 
 spoke. 
 
 Then he was taken aback at the storm of dissent which burst, 
 speedily as a prairie storm, upon him. The tempest very quickly 
 disposed of both his ego and his proposal. 
 
 He talked to John Stuart and Orville Browning that night, to 
 find out what was so wrong with his idea. It still seemed admirable 
 to him. 
 
 "Well, you see, Lincoln," said Browning kindly, "you just 
 haven't been here during the closing days of the session. It's a 
 madhouse then, getting all the bills to harmonize with actions 
 taken in the Senate. We don't work alone, you know; we have 
 to cooperate with what the Senate is doing, too." 
 
 "If amendments were limited," put in Stuart, "and all those bills 
 went through up to their final reading at the end of the session, 
 and if they couldn't have those last-minute changes, they would 
 simply be killed. All that season's work would have been for noth- 
 ing, not to mention disappointments and wrath both here and in 
 the home counties. I agree, your idea sounds excellent, but it would 
 have had the opposite result, you'd have discovered. That's why 
 they made haste to kill it so fast. 
 
 124 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "I declare, I thought old Orlando Ficklin would burst a blood 
 vessel, he was in such a hurry to present his nays," added Stuart 
 with a laugh. 
 
 "I don't think that Ficklin exactly likes me," put in Lincoln 
 ruefully, remembering the looks of fury bent upon him by the im- 
 posing Mr. Ficklin from Wabash County, and the white heat with 
 which he determinedly killed the proposal — and Lincoln's rising 
 pride besides. 
 
 The latter's pride slid still further into the depths when his Justice 
 of the Peace bill was amended and referred to a special committee. 
 His ego began to rise again, however, when the Salt Creek Bridge 
 bill actually passed, though slightly amended, but with Lincoln, 
 Stuart and Carpenter doing the revising. Lincoln would have that 
 piece of work accomplished, at least, if he had nothing else to show 
 for his first session in the House. 
 
 Time moved on, day after day, with routine business which 
 bored the legislators to such an extent that they voted to take 
 several afternoons off during December. Suddenly, three days be- 
 fore Christmas, members of the Illinois State Legislature began 
 counting the days remaining before its final adjournment in Feb- 
 ruary. They were all too few. If the members were to accomplish 
 all they had set out to do, and all which the home folks had sent 
 them to do, they had better work harder! Members voted unani- 
 mously, therefore, to get to business and start work at nine in the 
 morning. 
 
 That first morning, most of the men straggled in around nine, 
 but the turnout was neither outstanding nor very wide awake. 
 
 "I vote we adjourn until ten o'clock," someone proposed, yawn- 
 ing, and the motion was hastily carried. The men all dragged out 
 to have coffee so that they could wake up more thoroughly. They 
 readjourned at ten, their usual hour. This procedure held for the 
 next several days, and not very much more work was done than 
 before, if as much. 
 
 Lincoln of Sangamon was disturbed by this sluggishness and 
 waste of time. Ten o'clock, even nine o'clock — why it was the 
 middle of the day. He was used to rising at dawn and getting down 
 
 I2 5 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 to work at once. 
 
 "Gentlerrien," he stood up to suggest. "I propose that we do not 
 observe Christmas as a holiday, but spend the day in catching up 
 on the work in which we are so woefully in arrears. After all, many 
 of us are too far from home to get there for Christmas and back in 
 time for the session next day — " 
 
 But his high-pitched, earnest voice was drowned in the thunder 
 of nays and he folded down into his Windsor chair in some embar- 
 rassment. He didn't like their vehemence nor the cold light of dis- 
 like which he detected on the faces of many of his constituents. 
 They might not all have a chance to get home for Christmas, they 
 were muttering, but by Ned, they weren't going to spend Christmas 
 Day slaving in a drafty old State House, voting on dry, dull bills 
 that oughtn't to become laws anyway! Not on Christmas Day, 
 they weren't! 
 
 Christmas in Vandalia was a mixture of Illinois frontier, New 
 England, Kentuckian, French and German celebration, or absence 
 of it, depending upon one's persuasion. The combination con- 
 trived to put a gala air upon a day which was dismal, with a freez- 
 ing drizzle that glazed streets and coated trees till they creaked 
 and groaned with the weight of ice. 
 
 Indoors, however, there were plenty of hot toddies and mulled 
 cider and eggnog and other festive drinks. The Vandalia Inn 
 actually managed to produce a noble roast of beef for Christmas 
 dinner. Although the meat was a trifle stringy and tough, it was, 
 nevertheless, beef and not deer, bear, wild turkey or prairie chicken, 
 of which everyone by now was heartily sick. The cook turned out 
 a plum pudding which might have done credit to Old England, and 
 made half a dozen pecan pies which were like something straight 
 from New Orleans. 
 
 Afterward, some of the more frivolous guests, gathering around 
 the nucleus of the ladies in their best gowns, played snapdragon — 
 snatching raisins out of a bowl of burning brandy. There were 
 dances and games and other social activities, and then more food, 
 more drinks, more fun. 
 
 126 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, to whom Christmas held little meaning, spent 
 the day talking politics to anyone who would listen. He took a 
 long walk by himself, out along the ridge above the unfrozen 
 Kaskaskia River, got his good boots muddy and a cold in his head. 
 He slipped and slid over the ice glaze and came back feeling lonely 
 and miserable and sorry for himself. 
 
 People seemed to have such a gay time at Christmas, but he 
 somehow didn't know how to go about it. His own family hadn't 
 believed it was proper to celebrate so holy a day frivolously, nor 
 had there ever been enough money to buy extras to make the day 
 special. Thinking back on it, he'd never really known Christmas in 
 all his life and had not missed it until now. Its jollity fell strangely 
 on his ears. Maybe, after all, in spite of his father's calling it a 
 worldly celebration, there was something good and fine and worth- 
 while in observing Christmas. If he ever had any children of his 
 own, he would see to it that they grew up with Christmas in their 
 lives. The vow made him feel a little better and he was almost cheer- 
 ful again. 
 
 He felt considerably better next morning, though his cold 
 plagued him, for his toll bridge bill passed the Senate. The other 
 bill, however, seemed doomed to being forever tabled; it lay in 
 indefinite postponement. 
 
 This dropped his spirits again with a dull thud. Was he sen- 
 tenced forever to being postponed and put off and held back 
 when his ideas were basically good? He moped around and blew 
 his nose and coughed a lot, and finally had the cold whipped, along 
 with his gloom. 
 
 Suddenly, in the closing five weeks of the session, Lincoln found 
 himself serving on no less than ten special committees. He was 
 called upon to present vital motions. Very happily, the House of 
 Representatives found itself enjoying a chance to listen to the 
 often pungently expressed words of Lincoln of Sangamon, and 
 of being fascinated by the charm underlying his unpolished exterior 
 and the ungraceful motions of his hands and feet. His magnetic 
 personality seemed to radiate like an unseen but potent force, 
 
 127 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 drawing men to him and him to them. He did not understand it 
 himself, and neither did his companions, but they felt it. They liked 
 him; he liked them, and they were brought together strangely and 
 compellingly. Even testy Orlando Ficklin had to admit that the 
 young man had something, even if he couldn't very often agree 
 with his notions. 
 
 At last it was all over. The gritty floor was swept, the tobacco- 
 clogged sandboxes emptied, the marred tables cleaned, the legisla- 
 tors, one by one, taking the stages or their own horses to their 
 separate destinations. It was February 13, 1835. Governor Duncan 
 went home to Jacksonville, and Lincoln, Stuart, Carpenter and 
 Dawson went back to Springfield. Lincoln had earned $258, plus 
 thirty-three dollars travel expenses, more than enough to pay 
 his full debt to Coleman Smoot and leave a little to live on until 
 surveying jobs came his way again. 
 
 New Salem seemed very quiet and dull and lifeless on that 
 winter-spring day, after all the excitement in Vandalia where six 
 hundred people lived. It was difficult for Abraham, at first, to settle 
 down to the slow trend of life and the minor affairs of the village. 
 
 Besides, after his absence, he could see a startling thing. New 
 Salem was dying. People were moving away, instead of coming in. 
 No new houses were being built. A curious air of discouragement 
 and stagnation seemed to hang over the village. 
 
 And, preceding the death of a village, his friend and one-time 
 partner, William Berry, had died a little more than a month before 
 and had been buried in Rock Creek churchyard. Abraham Lincoln 
 found it a somber homecoming. 
 
 128 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 « 
 
 kjAMUEL hill, in an effort to revive the waning trade of the 
 town and turn a few more profits his way, commenced construc- 
 tion of a carding mill in April. He hired workmen from Petersburg 
 and New Salem, among them the strong-armed Lincoln, to build 
 the biggest structure in New Salem. The complicated machines 
 which were housed in the great rectangular building were brought 
 by boat and ox-cart from New England. They were the marvel of 
 the neighborhood. It was seldom that anyone thereabouts had a 
 chance to see a machine like that. 
 
 Sam Hill advertised that he would begin carding wool on May 
 i st, 1835, and promised an excellent piece of work. People came on 
 horseback, in wagons or on foot, with wool done up in sacks and 
 old petticoats fastened up with locust thorns, until the wool house 
 was full. The machine thumped and growled all day as the ox 
 tethered on the turntable behind the big building supplied the 
 power which made the great wooden cogs revolve and turn the 
 million-bristled cylinders. Through these, the dirty, tangled wool 
 passed and came out straight and free from foreign matter, ready 
 to be spun into yarn on spinning wheels of New Salem and round 
 about. 
 
 That spring and summer, Sam was making money. Nearly every- 
 one else in New Salem, however, was losing money, or barely 
 staying solvent, but not the enterprising Sam. He turned some of 
 his profits into the building of a two-story house beside the store, 
 and in July he asked the stately Parthena Nance to marry him. To 
 
 129 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 no one's surprise, she accepted him, and they were married in the 
 biggest and most elaborate wedding ceremony the village had ever 
 seen. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, meanwhile, was spending as much time as he 
 could in studying law and taking jobs of surveying and other work 
 whenever they turned up. When he could, he rode out to Sand- 
 ridge to visit the Rutledges. He had missed them more than he had 
 at first realized and felt as if he were going home when he paid a 
 call. Mrs. Rutledge invariably asked him to stay to dinner, and he 
 would spend long hours talking with Mr. Rutledge and with 
 David and Robert, who were home from college and had plenty 
 to discuss. 
 
 The Rutledges were almost like his own family, Abraham would 
 think happily, after a long session of talk, or a conversation with 
 pretty, red-haired Ann about what they had both been reading. 
 Ann was making plans for going to college and had been working 
 at the Shorts' to help earn money to pay her way. 
 
 Ann was such a nice girl. It was a shame, he often thought, how 
 her fiance, John McNeil — which wasn't even his right name, all 
 New Salem had discovered — had never come back to marry her. 
 There was something shady there, but no one knew exactly what it 
 was. 
 
 Sam Hill had proposed to Ann, but had been turned down, for 
 she still felt bound to the man who had evidently stepped out of 
 her life. He had not been heard from in several years. 
 
 Abraham was fond of Ann, but he had been almost shocked 
 when Sam Hill jokingly had asked if he was going to marry her — 
 he, Abraham Lincoln, with no money, no proper job, no pros- 
 pects! The very thought of marriage frightened him. Besides, Ann 
 seemed almost like a sister. Just about everyone loved little Annie 
 Rutledge, he figured, felt sorry about her disappointments and 
 applauded her plans for more education. But marriage — ! 
 
 During the great heat of early August, both Ann and her father 
 fell desperately ill. Abraham hastened out to Sandridge, to see if 
 
 130 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 there was anything he could do, but there was nothing. Both 
 patients were delirious and did not know him. It was very hot. He 
 wished it would rain. The ill turned and moaned on their hot beds 
 and could not ease their pain and discomfort in the sticky, humid 
 atmosphere. 
 
 All day long on August 17 there was an odd, steely glare in the 
 sky, with a curious, uncomfortable, ominous feeling in the close 
 air. Everyone seemed to sense it, but no one knew what it meant. 
 It made women snap at their husbands and slap their children; 
 it made dogs, overcome with the heat, resent any overture from 
 man or beast. Horses kicked and flies settled persistently on every- 
 one and everything, and bit and bit and bit. 
 
 The water in the Sangamon was very low, too slow to run the 
 mill. It just lay sluggish and unpleasantly stagnant, fetid in the heat. 
 Catfish, flopping miserably in the shallows where they were 
 stranded, slowly died. Herons poked along the algae-greened mud 
 and picked at clam shells which gaped odorously in the heat. 
 Duckweed coating the backwaters gave off its own sickening smell. 
 Grasshoppers shrilled in the dusty horseweeds or chewed the rolled 
 corn leaves, out in the baking fields. 
 
 Night was scarcely more comfortable than day. The sun set in 
 a curious, ruddy haze and vanished abruptly as a dark cloud rose 
 levelly out of the west. A wind got up which was thick with dust. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln was reading by the light of a candle which 
 was attracting all the small night moths of the neighborhood. They 
 were flying insanely about and burning their wings, then dropping 
 to unhappy, sizzling deaths in the hot grease. 
 
 Suddenly he became aware of a change. A wind was starting 
 up again. Far off in the night, there rose a dull and rumbling 
 sound, a strange roaring, almost like the boilers of a big steamboat 
 at full speed ahead, but more so, and it seemed to be coming nearer, 
 nearer. 
 
 Wind surged through the window and put out his candle. He 
 got up and stepped outside, into a night suddenly wild with wind. 
 A great tumult of steady roaring was passing nearby, but not touch- 
 ing New Salem itself, though the tremendous rush and suction ac- 
 
 131 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 companying the twister was wrenching off great oak limbs as if 
 they were twigs. Chimneys flew, several window panes broke or 
 were hurled inward by the vacuum. Abraham braced himself 
 against the door frame. 
 
 Off in the distance, there had been thunder. Now, as the great 
 wind passed, the storm gathered force and burst overhead. The 
 lightning was blinding; the thunder racketed about as if it were 
 going to rend heaven apart. Trees whipped madly in fresh gusts. 
 Then the first great relieving drops of rain started down like 
 shots, easing the tension. Abe ducked back into the store as hail 
 came with the rain, until the roof seemed surely about to be 
 beaten inward with the resounding bombardment, and he was 
 almost deafened by the noise. 
 
 After that, it set in to pour. With some slackening, the rain 
 let up about midnight, but it continued again, all the rest of the 
 night. The air, fed by a wind out of the northwest, was blessedly 
 cool and delicious to breathe and to live in. 
 
 In the morning, the flies, for the moment at least, seemed to 
 have been drowned. The river had risen from the big run-off and, 
 filled with sticks and leaves and drowned paroquets, as well as a 
 couple of dead pigs and possums, was pouring with a pleasant rush 
 over the dam again. Parched grass had already taken on a new 
 look of life, and the village ducks and geese dabbled thankfully in 
 puddles lying broadly across Main Street. 
 
 But the grasshopper-chewed corn in the fields was flattened 
 where the big wind had passed — had raced so dangerously close 
 to the cabins of New Salem. Much of that corn crop would be 
 lost, good for nothing but fodder. Trees had been uprooted and 
 flung headlong into the forest. New down-wood cluttered the 
 foaming Sangamon. 
 
 When Matthew Marsh rode in to see how New Salem had 
 fared, and to buy some coffee at Sam Hill's store, he said: 
 
 "I tell you, Lincoln, that there was the biggest wind I ever see! 
 Ruined my cornfield, took down all my fencin', blew out all my 
 windowlights, and killed two cows. And this mornin', when I 
 
 *3 2 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 was out to try and salvage my fence rails that had been tossed from 
 here to Kingdom Come, what should I spy but two big wolves, 
 monsters they looked to be, close as they was!" 
 
 "Wolves?" echoed Mrs. Onstot in frightened tones. 
 
 "Yes, wolves, ma'am," Marsh assured her. "I declare, they must 
 have been no more than fifty yards from me, walkin' along as un- 
 concerned-like, sort of dazed, as if they'd been blown from their 
 den clean out into the middle of my cornfield and had to get home. 
 I never seen no thin' to match it in all my days! " 
 
 "It was pretty bad right here, I'll admit," said Abraham, weigh- 
 ing out coffee beans into a bag. "Mr. Marsh, have you heard any- 
 thing about the Rutledges? Ann's been sick and so is her daddy. 
 Typhoid malaria, they call it." 
 
 "They're still pretty sick," put in Mrs. Onstot. "When I was 
 out to pay a call day before yesterday, neither one knew me. 
 Clean delirious." 
 
 "I'd better ride out and see," said Lincoln worriedly. "They're 
 like my own family. Jimmy Short's been down sick, too. I ought 
 to go see him, I guess." 
 
 "The road's pretty bad out that way," warned Marsh, picking 
 up his bag of coffee. "The rain made it a swamp, and there's a lot 
 of timber down, but a horse can make it, I reckon. Too bad about 
 the Rutledges, ain't it, the trouble they've had lately." 
 
 Tall, thin, overworked Mrs. Rutledge said much the same thing 
 to Abraham when he rode up that afternoon after the post office 
 closed. 
 
 "It's been one calamity after another, Abe, ever since we lost 
 the tavern," she said sadly. "The storm killed our best horse and 
 twenty chickens, and I can't even find six of the young pigs, like 
 as if they'd been blown clean away. Thank fortune, though, the 
 cyclone didn't touch the house. Might have killed us all, and them 
 in there so sick they couldn't have made it down to the storm 
 cellar before the wind hit." 
 
 "How is Ann, Mrs. Rutledge? And Mr. Rutledge? I've been 
 worried about them." 
 
 133 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Well, they're bad, Abe, very bad. I'm afraid to think what 
 may happen. Doctor Allen comes out every day, but he can't seem 
 to do much and, in the heat, they've felt worse and worse. It's 
 hard to get cool water for them. This fresh air today — well, maybe 
 it'll put new life into both of them. Go in, Abe, and say hello. But 
 don't you stay too long. They get tired so easy." 
 
 Abraham was shocked at how thin and yellow James Rutledge 
 looked, laid back on the rough, unbleached linen sheets of the 
 big bed in the main room. His always prominent, strong jawbone 
 and massive brow looked shorn of flesh, just bone under the yel- 
 lowish skin. 
 
 "Howdy, Abe," he murmured, lifting one thin hand and letting 
 it drop wearily. Abraham took it, feeling how dry and hot the 
 skin was. 
 
 "It's good to see you, Mr. Rutledge," Abe began, not knowing 
 what to talk about to this kindly, good man on whom the hand 
 of death lay so plainly. "That was sure a storm last night, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 "I thought it was the Lord Himself calling me home, Abe," 
 murmured James Rutledge, "though I reckon He wouldn't have 
 had to make such a to-do to get me to come. I didn't know if He 
 was sending me to the eternal fires or to the bliss of heaven, but I 
 was so sick last night, I didn't care much which it was." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Rutledge, don't talk so!" Abraham was holding 
 tightly to the thin, work-worn hand of the gray-haired man who 
 lay so narrow and wasted under the coarse sheet. "You'll be with 
 us a long time yet." 
 
 A small voice called weakly from the other room of the cabin. 
 
 "Is that you, Abe? Come in here." 
 
 "Go and see my daughter, Abe. She's sicker than I am, son, and 
 I'm fair worried about her." 
 
 Abraham, with a farewell clasp to the man's thin hand, got up 
 and, in dread, walked to the door to see the red-haired girl lying 
 small and pale on her bed. Her plaited hair looked rough and dull, 
 without the light that used to sparkle from it, as it had sparkled 
 
 134 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 from the girl herself. 
 
 His heart gave a sick flip-flop of fear at sight of that face. Not 
 little Annie Rutledge! Older folk, maybe . . . but the young, the 
 good, the dear . . . and there flashed again through his mind that 
 never-buried memory of the time when his people and the neighbors 
 were dying, the young and the old, the good and the bad, it didn't 
 seem to matter. And that time when, for no apparent reason at all, 
 his sister had died when her baby was born, and the baby with her. 
 
 He fought back the wave of fear, smiled at the girl on the bed. 
 The hand under his strong fingers had nothing much to it but 
 transparent skin and bones and blue veins showing through. 
 
 "Don't stay too long, Abe," said Mrs. Rutledge quietly from 
 the doorway. 
 
 "Oh, Mama, let him stay, do," the girl cried petulantly, tears 
 coming weakly to her eyes. "It's so lonesome here. . . ." 
 
 "They told me you were too sick to have visitors," began Lin- 
 coln, more at sea at knowing what to say to this poor child than 
 to her father. "But if you feel like having me come, I'll be here 
 every day, don't you fear." 
 
 "That would be nice, Abe," she murmured, her eyes closing 
 and her breathing rasping suddenly. Her fingers moved aimlessly 
 over the sheet, back and forth, as if hunting for something. Abra- 
 ham, laying his hands on them to quiet their movement, felt the 
 dry hotness in them. 
 
 "Abe," said Mrs. Rutledge despairingly from the doorway, 
 "maybe you better go." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," he said quietly. "I'll come back whenever you 
 need me." 
 
 "There's naught you can do or the doctor either," she said, 
 and her eyes held a look of tears not yet dried. "It's in the hands 
 of the Lord. All we can do is pray." 
 
 Work went poorly after that. Abraham was too restless. Be- 
 sides, he wasn't feeling very well himself. He was hot and fever- 
 ish and had had several recurring spells of chills which boded no 
 good, he knew. He'd had an attack of malaria when he boarded 
 at the Camrons', several years ago, and had been nursed by all 
 
 135 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 eleven of the Camron girls, which was a good deal of nursing for 
 one young man. It didn't do him much good, though, when Doctor 
 Allen gave them orders not to let their patient have too much 
 water, and no amount of coaxing could make them break their 
 word. 
 
 Abraham didn't relish the notion of another such bout coming 
 on now, when he ought to be of some help to the Rutledges, if 
 there was anything he ever could do. He'd been out twice, but 
 both James Rutledge and his daughter were delirious and didn't 
 know him. One of the married Rutledge daughters had come home 
 to help her mother. Abe had brought some items of food from 
 the store, but no one could appreciate them for a while, until the 
 crisis was past. 
 
 He laid his head on the mail desk to ease the pain and tried to 
 will health back into himself. He simply could not be sick, he 
 couldn't, couldn't, couldn't . . . and he grew hotter and hotter 
 with more than the summer's heat which had seeped back into the 
 August countryside. 
 
 Jack Kelso found him there when he came running up on the 
 store porch. 
 
 "Abe! Abe!" he cried, shaking the inert figure. Abraham, with 
 a great effort, managed to lift his head. His eyes were dull with 
 pain and fever. In his blurred vision, he seemed to see Jack as 
 several great heads leaning over him. 
 
 "Hello, Jack," he muttered and tried to put his head down 
 again. 
 
 "Listen! Abe, wake up! You got to listen!" cried Jack im- 
 patiently, shaking the bony shoulder again. "Little Annie Rutledge 
 is dead. She went this morning and the news just came. Everyone in 
 town's broken up about it. Sam Hill cried like a baby. I knew 
 you'd want to know about it. You hear what I said, Abe? Ann — 
 Ann's gone!" 
 
 Still Jack Kelso did not know whether his words penetrated 
 or not. 
 
 "Thanks, Jack," was all Abraham said, forcing himself to his feet 
 with a tremendous effort and standing upright. "Thanks for 
 
 i 3 6 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 coming to tell me. Now go on, will you, and leave me alone?" 
 
 Rudeness like this was odd in Lincoln, but Kelso, feeling that 
 the moment might be full of emotion to one as tenderhearted as 
 Lincoln, and not realizing the state of the man's own illness, obeyed. 
 Left alone, Abraham, in a half-conscious daze, started walking. 
 From across the street, Mrs. Allen saw him go, but she thought 
 nothing of it, except that he was walking oddly, like a sleep-walker. 
 She saw him head blindly off into the timber back of the store 
 and vanish in the big ravine where no one went in rattlesnake 
 weather. 
 
 The silence of the trees was an echoing cavern, shadowy and 
 green, with a purple gloom marked by late sunlight on the dark 
 uprights of tree trunks. Cicadas burst into strident buzzing which 
 rasped shrilly through Abraham's brain and he fought it, trying to 
 escape the hot sound. But the ravine was a trap, with grapevines 
 and wild yams catching him across the ankles . . . with a prick- 
 ling of Spanish needles jabbing to the skin . . . they were pin- 
 points of pain, and then they dimmed to nothing in the rustle of 
 leaves as he pushed through a tangle of hazel bushes. 
 
 He had been struggling forever with the jungle of whiplash 
 hazel stems which struck his face and chest, caught his legs . . . 
 a hundred determined demons holding him back . . . until, with 
 a forward surge, like pushing through deep water in the Missis- 
 sippi, he was out of the wilderness of hazels . . . and the plaintive, 
 clear wailing of a wood pewee somewhere high in a honey locust 
 cried over and over again, sadly, so that he could have wept . . . 
 for what, he did not know, only that the bird's voice was full of 
 the world's grief and his heart would sympathize with all grief . . . 
 and he went on, and did not see the swift retreat of the bobwhite 
 and her young, fleeing his uneven footsteps . . . and the bottom 
 of the ravine was still muddy from the great storm ... he stum- 
 bled over a fresh crayfish chimney, almost a foot high and very 
 solid, and came down on his hands against the upward slope . . . 
 he got up and went on, climbing, panting. 
 
 Pennyroyal was rank as he crushed it . . . stick- tights plas- 
 tered his pants legs ... a rattlesnake whirred its rattle and then, 
 
 137 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 instead of striking, smoothly uncoiled and slid away with a dry 
 rustle under the ferns . . . another rattlesnake lying supine on a 
 log bent a cold and impersonal stare upon the figure fighting the 
 vines, observed how he plunged headlong as his foot went into 
 the entrance of a woodchuck's burrow, saw him lie there with 
 his face against the cool moss . . . and the snake watched and made 
 no move. 
 
 Somehow, it seemed to Lincoln as he lay there that he could 
 never, never get to the top of the ravine, that he would con- 
 tinually slide back with every step . . . would always stay where 
 he was, fighting vainly the wiry vines and the massive bushes, 
 struggling against the Jo-Pye weeds whipping against his face 
 . . . feeling blood trickling down his cheek where the catbrier 
 slashed him . . . 
 
 The bird wailed and the snake watched as he lay on the slope. 
 A tiger beetle scurried in a flash of iridescent blue over his hand 
 and was gone. The cicadas stopped buzzing. The sun dropped 
 behind the hill. The woods were growing still and cool; a blue 
 dusk crept up from the hollows. The mosquitoes pricked him and 
 still he did not move. 
 
 Night came into the ravine, night loud with whippoorwills. 
 Up on the hill crest, a fox barked, lone and small in the summer 
 dark. Far away, a dog yapped and the fox replied with small de- 
 fiance. A baby cried up in the village; the children at Johnsons' 
 cabin settled down with difficulty for sleep. Far off at Abells', a 
 cow lowed long and mournfully for her calf. 
 
 A whippoorwill on quiet wings swerved through the darkness 
 and paused on the hickory branch above his head. It was the bird's 
 insistent hiccuping which wakened Abraham, though it was only 
 a partial awakening. He was still burning with fever and the night, 
 to his eyes, held a luminous glow which made the stars thrice 
 their size and the fireflies uncertain blobs of golden light, coming 
 and going. 
 
 He got to his feet and caught hold of vines and boughs and 
 staggered to the top of the ravine . . . and went on . . . and 
 on. . . . 
 
 i 3 8 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Some time later, there was a feeble rap on the door of Judge 
 Bowling Green's house. Judge Green, heaving his bulk out of his 
 captain's chair, cautiously opened the door and held his candle 
 high. No telling who or what at that time of night. . . . 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, leaning against the door jamb, slid in an inert 
 mass to the floor. 
 
 "Mother!" Judge Green called to his wife, who, in her night 
 gown and cap, hurried at the urgency of her husband's voice. "I 
 don't know what ails him, but Abe's mighty sick and clean out of 
 his head, seems like!" 
 
 It took some doing to get him off the floor and onto the bed, 
 because, in spite of his illness, Abraham was as strong as ever 
 and fought to keep the Greens from removing his muddy shoes and 
 his torn shirt, to make him more comfortable. Finally, however, 
 he grew quiet and slept, stretched across the bed at an angle so 
 he would fit. 
 
 The Greens nursed Lincoln lovingly through a bad attack of 
 malaria, trying to give him cool water on the days of his great 
 fever, trying to keep him warm when the chills hit him and he 
 shook so that his teeth rattled together, and he felt he would never 
 be warm again. 
 
 And then, one morning, he was awake and rational, though 
 weak as a young possum. His mind wasn't working very clearly, 
 and he couldn't remember how he came there or why, nor what 
 day it was, except that someone had come to say that Ann Rutledge 
 had been taken by death. . . . 
 
 A little more than a week later, with his great reserve vitality, 
 Lincoln was almost well again. He was thinner and quite yellow, 
 but well, and back in the post office. He took on some surveying 
 jobs. It was with relief that he learned that James Rutledge still 
 lived. But somehow, Abraham felt, he would not be long in 
 following his daughter. It was like losing part of himself to lose the 
 Rutledges. 
 
 139 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 
 
 n a day in May, 1836, Harvey Ross brought a letter for Mrs. 
 Bennett Abell, who was not at the post office to pick it up. In 
 only a very few more days, the United States post office at New 
 Salem, Illinois, would be closed, and Abraham Lincoln would be 
 out of a job which had never really paid him very much. During 
 his absences in Vandalia, Caleb Carman had substituted for him, 
 but he had been glad to come back to his post. 
 
 New Salem was petering out, however. Each time he returned 
 from Vandalia he could see it more plainly. Now not enough mail 
 came to or went out of the village to make it worth-while for the 
 mail carrier to take the trouble to climb the hill to deliver it or 
 pick up outgoing mail. 
 
 Instead, people were moving to Petersburg, down in the bottoms, 
 two miles north of New Salem. Family after family had gone. 
 
 And in May, word had come that the last mail delivery to New 
 Salem would soon be made. Thereafter, the post office would be 
 located at Petersburg. 
 
 The failure of the steamboat Utility, that same month, to ascend 
 in the paddlewash of the ill-starred Talisman had sealed New 
 Salem's fate, and the postmaster at Washington had pronounced its 
 ultimate doom. 
 
 The Utility had foundered below New Salem, had stuck fast 
 on a sandbar, where she was rapidly going to pieces. There was 
 no hope of getting her off. Her engines, therefore, were removed 
 and put to running the first steam mill at Petersburg. The Utility 
 quietly and with finality fell apart as the river carried away her 
 
 140 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 remains, and with them went the hope of a river future for towns 
 along the cantankerous Sangamon. And there was no future at all 
 for New Salem, perched too high above the river, too high above 
 the main road, upon too narrow a peninsula of land. 
 
 "In a way, Lincoln," joked Jack Kelso when he heard the news, 
 "I'd say it was all your fault, our losing the post office. If you 
 hadn't surveyed Petersburg to make it a town, it wouldn't be the 
 attraction it is. New Salem people might have stayed put and more 
 would have come in, even without steamboats, especially if the 
 roads were improved. 
 
 "But no, your chain and compass had to go gallivanting around 
 down there to lay out a new town, and look how they take your 
 post office away from New Salem and you! People are even 
 moving their entire houses down there. I never saw the like!" 
 
 "Well, now, Jack, I wouldn't go so far as to blame Petersburg 
 on me," protested Abraham, not certain whether or not Kelso were 
 serious or joking. "After all, the town wasn't my idea. You recol- 
 lect how Peter Lukins and George Warburton couldn't stand the 
 gaff of the Temperance Society up here, or at least that's what 
 folk say. Didn't enjoy being looked at and prayed over and lectured 
 to and reformed when they'd no mind for such truck. You remem- 
 ber how, in some of their more lucid moments, they got mad and 
 moved out and laid out a town of sorts for themselves down 
 there. Named it Petersburg for Peter Lukins, though it could just 
 as easily have been Georgetown, I reckon. Never did figure how 
 they decided it. Didn't do that pair much good, though, I must 
 admit, with George drowning himself in the Sangamon and Pete 
 bursting a blood vessel." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know all that. The fact remains, you made Peters- 
 burg properly into a town by platting and surveying it, and now 
 look what happens. I hope you're satisfied! Anyway, New Salem 
 is done for. No future up here, with no river business and the 
 roads so bad, and the mill not having as much business, either, as 
 it used to. Sam's carding machine still has business, but you could 
 trust Sam Hill to make money during the plague. Where are you 
 going when New Salem finally winks out, Lincoln?" 
 
 141 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Springfield, I suppose," Abraham answered with conviction. 
 "You may not know it, but I've already bought a little piece of 
 land in Springfield, with some extra cash I had. Imagine me! Bought 
 it off Tom Edwards. Don't know what I'll do with it, but anyway, 
 I've got a stake in Springfield now and probably will move there 
 some day. Stuart wants me to come." 
 
 And so, just before the post office vanished, late in May, a 
 letter came for Mrs. Bennett Abell. The handwriting on the cover 
 looked suspiciously like that of Mary Owens of Kentucky. Think- 
 ing that surely Mrs. Abell would want to have her mail very, very 
 quickly, Abraham shut up the post office and loped across the 
 woods to the Abells' house. 
 
 "Why, thank you, Abraham," said Mrs. Abell cordially, taking 
 the letter. "It was so kind of you to bring it all the way over 
 here," she added, as she had done that other time, but now he knew 
 there was no reason to peer back of her to discover a splendid 
 vision behind her in the room. "It's from Mary, I see. She's been 
 wanting me to visit her down in Kentucky and I think I shall do 
 so this summer." 
 
 "That's nice," Abraham agreed. "And why don't you bring 
 her back with you for a little visit here?" 
 
 Mrs. Abell laughed her pleasant, silvery laugh, which reminded 
 Abraham so much of Mary's own mirth, but without the brittle 
 edge. 
 
 "Now, that's an excellent idea, Mr. Lincoln, sir! Yes, I'll try to 
 persuade my sister to come back with me, but on only one condi- 
 tion." 
 
 She paused, surveying him levelly, then said: 
 
 "Young man, if I bring Mary here, I want you to promise to 
 marry her! " 
 
 Abraham's mind, like a skittish stallion, took a sudden leap of 
 fright, as it always did when someone mentioned marriage to him. 
 The very word somehow alarmed him with unknown tremors, 
 though he could not have explained why. Then he righted himself 
 so he could answer her joke with: 
 
 142 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Well, ma'am, you bring her back and I'll see to the marrying! 
 That is, if she'll have me. I'd sure as fate want nothing more than 
 to make her a good husband; but females are odd creatures some- 
 times, begging your pardon, Mrs. A. Might be she actually could 
 turn me down! " 
 
 "Oh, no, I'm sure not!" Mrs. Abell assured him, delighted with 
 her strategy. 
 
 At the ladies' sewing circle, the married women of New Salem 
 had pondered just what sort of lure could make Abraham Lincoln 
 ask a woman's hand in marriage, now that the Rutledge and Cam- 
 ron girls, as well as Parthena Nance, were all out of the way, and 
 so few eligible young women remained. He was plenty old enough 
 to have a wife, that was certain, and, as a legislator, he was a 
 man of means and position. Mary Owens was suggested. They 
 knew Abraham had sparked her in '33. 
 
 "Now don't you forget, Abraham Lincoln!" Elizabeth Abell 
 reminded him. "You've promised. If I persuade Mary to return 
 with me, it's up to you to do the rest! " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I sure will. I promise. And if I don't marry her, 
 it'll not be my fault but hers for turning me down!" 
 
 The summer passed. The post office officially closed. There was 
 a weedy, uncared-for look along New Salem's Main Street. 
 
 Lincoln announced himself as candidate for re-election to the 
 State Legislature. His platform contained most of what it had 
 held before, with a considerably startling addition. No one knew 
 how on earth a man of Abraham Lincoln's sense and his wariness 
 of women could have thought of it, much less included it in his 
 political platform, but there it was: 
 
 / believe in all sharing the privileges of government who assist in 
 bearing its burdens . . . admitting all whites to the rights of 
 suffrage and by no means excluding females. . . . 
 
 "The idea, sayin' women should vote!" sputtered Henry On- 
 stot to Joshua Miller, the blacksmith, and Martin Waddell, the 
 hatter. "I never heard the like. Next thing you know, the females'll 
 be runnin' for Congress and gettin' to be president of the L/nited 
 
 H3 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 States! I hope and trust I shall never live to see the day. Nor even 
 the day my wife can make her mark on a ballot and decide who 
 shall rule this land of ours! Women vote! It's an outrage!" 
 
 "Dangerous, too," put in short, heavy-set Miller, wiping his 
 hands on his grimy blacksmith's apron. "You give a woman the 
 reins and no tellin' where you'll end up." 
 
 "Oh, he won't get far with that part of his platform," assured 
 Waddell. "Just sounds good, butterin' up to the ladies so they'll 
 tell their husbands to vote for that charmin' Lincoln feller, because 
 maybe some day he'll make a law that'll let 'em vote! Hah!" 
 
 On August i, 1836, election day, while the votes were still 
 coming in and the air was tense with the matter at hand, loungers 
 on Sam Hill's store porch heard that long unheard sound, the 
 swish of silk. Silken skirts rustled up the steps and through the 
 doorway into the sudden darkness inside, where the polls were 
 held. 
 
 "Why, how-do, ma'am!" exclaimed Sam Hill cordially, looking 
 up boldly into her cool blue eyes below a smooth white brow and 
 black curls, showing under a pale yellow leghorn bonnet. He 
 noted that she had gained some weight and had lost a couple of 
 teeth. "Welcome back. Did you come to cast your vote, too, 
 ma'am?" 
 
 He laughed and the other men joined him, though not too up- 
 roariously because a lady was obviously present. 
 
 She was unruffled. "Well, Mr. Hill, perhaps you gentlemen 
 won't let me vote this time, but mark my words, some day the 
 time may come!" 
 
 The loungers frankly eyed her fine gown with the huge leg 
 o' mutton sleeves and full skirt, her flowered bonnet, her neat 
 kid slippers. Her voice made one man's heart turn quite over at 
 sound of it. 
 
 "Miss Owens!" cried Abraham Lincoln, coming out of the back 
 room. "I thought I was hearing things! It's you! You're a sight 
 to make the angels shout! When did you get back?" 
 
 With a shock, he took in her additional size. In three years she 
 had changed a good deal, though she still dressed so well and so 
 
 144 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 neatly that her weight was not as unpleasant to view as it might have 
 been. 
 
 "I came in yesterday on the stage from Springfield, sir," she 
 said coolly, appraising him, too. He looked just a little better 
 groomed, just a shade more mannerly and poised, though not 
 a great deal. Maybe that was due to his experiences with other 
 men in the Legislature. 
 
 "It's so good to be back. But I must not interfere with history. 
 Will they re-elect you, Mr. Lincoln?" she asked tauntingly, 
 daring him with her eyes to speak more intimately than he ever 
 would with others present. 
 
 "Why, that's hard to tell, ma'am," he said serenely, standing 
 his ground, his own level gray eyes daring her right back to say 
 more. "When the polls close, I reckon we'll know the will of the 
 people. Tonight, may I call on you, ma'am?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Lincoln," she answered demurely, a demon in her 
 eyes. "You may." 
 
 For the next few weeks after he had won re-election, Abraham 
 Lincoln and Mary Owens were seen everywhere together. The 
 residents of New Salem, even in its more lively days, had never ob- 
 served such an enthusiastic and concentrated courtship as they 
 beheld in these two individuals, nor were they more puzzled as to 
 the outcome. 
 
 "How could such a fine lady as her wed such a big, ungainly 
 critter like that there Lincoln!" old Granny Spears exclaimed, 
 bringing nose and chin together over her toothless gums to sip 
 her cup of dittany tea. 
 
 "She ain't so much to look at herself, now. You note how fleshy 
 she's got and losin' them two teeth has ruined her looks when she 
 smiles," added Mrs. Johnson judiciously. Elmira Johnson had lost 
 quite a lot of teeth herself, one for every child she had borne, and 
 a few extra. 
 
 "Well, Lincoln's kind and good; he'd never knowingly hurt 
 anyone, much less his wife. I vow, though, I'd wager she'll make 
 him toe the line or know the reason why!" said Mrs. Kelso with 
 a smile. 
 
 145 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "He'll never ask her! He's a twitchy one with women, you 
 take notice." 
 
 "He will if she eggs him on. You can see she's got her cap set 
 for him. Her last chance to trap a man or she'll be an old maid the 
 rest of her endurin' life, you can be sure of that. She ain't no 
 spring chicken, you know!" 
 
 "With him in the Legislature and bound to be a lawyer in Spring- 
 field, Lincoln's headin' for a big future, no doubt, at least big 
 enough to support a wife and young ones. More'n he'd ever be able 
 to do here in New Salem, anyway." 
 
 "That's likely what she's got her eye on, I say." 
 
 "When you think he'll pop the question?" 
 
 No one could tell. Everyone watched. It was exciting to guess, 
 but no one knew a thing. Nevertheless, Mary Owens and Abraham 
 Lincoln were together every evening, either at the Abells' or over 
 at the home of one of the cousins or connections where Mary might 
 be visiting, or at Grahams' — and then he'd walk her home. Some- 
 times, however, she was very much irked by what he did or did 
 not do. In walking through the woods, Abraham usually strode 
 ahead in manly fashion, pioneer style, leaving her to pick her way 
 as best she could over brush and logs. She said nothing, however, 
 but burned in private over his uncouthness. 
 
 It was when the pair joined a group of other young people, 
 all on horseback, riding to a barbecue out at Billy Greene's house, 
 that matters came to a head. Girls and young men rode side by 
 side, singing as they went, laughing, joking, holding hands across 
 the space between the horses, occasionally riding closely enough 
 to filch a kiss. 
 
 To cross the creek was a ticklish business, especially if a fem- 
 inine rider were unsure of herself. The girls, experienced or not, 
 shrieked at the way the horses splashed, so that their escorts came 
 and guided the mounts to safety without slipping on the rocks of 
 the ford. 
 
 All but Mr. Lincoln and Miss Owens. He rode his horse ahead, 
 leaving Mary to cross the creek unattended. She was quite capable 
 
 146 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 as a horsewoman — most Kentucky girls were — and handled her 
 steed expertly. Nevertheless, she felt a rising anger burn within 
 her. It was almost more than a woman could endure. 
 
 "Oh, there you are, Mary!" he called cheerfully as she rode up 
 at last. "Thought you'd stayed behind and got lost!" he added, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Little you would have cared if I had!" she snapped with un- 
 expected venom. He had never heard such violence in her tones 
 before. 
 
 "A gentleman would have helped his lady across! The others 
 did. Only you — you had to ride ahead like a haughty Roman 
 emperor, as if you hadn't seen me before in your life and cared 
 less, while I splashed through as best I might. Look at my riding 
 habit — muddy and a mess because of you, Abraham Lincoln! 
 
 "I could have broken my neck," she raged on, "and precious 
 little it would have mattered to you! No, don't touch me!" she 
 added as he came up contritely to take her hand. It fairly tingled 
 to slap him hard. 
 
 "Oh, now, Mary, be reasonable," he pleaded. "You can ride. 
 You're a better horsewoman than any girl in the crowd, and have 
 more sense. I thought I was paying you a high compliment by 
 letting you navigate the creek alone. I never thought — " 
 
 "No, you never thought!" she cried furiously, cheeks scarlet. 
 "You never do! You seem to think I'm like those backwoods 
 women you doubtless grew up with, self-sufficient as a man be- 
 cause they had to be and the men let them. 
 
 "I may be capable, but I like a little gentlemanly attention now 
 and then! You would stop and tenderly help a hog out of a mud- 
 hole, or put young birds back in a nest, or defend the weak 
 wherever you found them — you're considerate enough sometimes! 
 — but there are times — oh, I boil to think of it! You remember 
 when you and Mrs. Green and I were walking over to Greens' 
 and Nancy was carrying her baby?" 
 
 "Well, yes, I recollect," said Lincoln, disturbed by her outpour- 
 ing vehemence and not knowing in the slightest what to do about 
 it. "I thought the baby cried an awful lot and was almighty loud." 
 
 147 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "It was a warm day, and that hill was steep and brambly, and 
 the mosquitoes like to ate us alive, but you marched on ahead, 
 never minding us. The baby was fussy. I carried him for a bit, to 
 ease her load, but you — you never once offered to be of help! 
 You purely disgust me, Abraham Lincoln. Sometimes I think I 
 never want to see you again! " 
 
 She urged her horse ahead to rejoin the crowd. As the party 
 rode on, she fumed in silence. She refused to speak to Abraham. 
 He meditated unhappily on what could set off some superior women 
 in blazing tantrums like that and all over nothing. He honestly 
 felt he was as much a gentleman as most fellows he knew. Maybe 
 not as polished as John Stuart, but then, look at the differences 
 in their upbringing and background. You'd expect Stuart to be a 
 perfect gentleman and know how to act with ladies in any situa- 
 tion which presented itself, but would you figure rough old Abe 
 Lincoln to have the same graces? 
 
 "No, by jing!" he exclaimed aloud, thumping the pommel of 
 the saddle. His horse twitched its ears back at him and hastened 
 its steps. 
 
 Casting an oblique glance at him after this brief outburst on 
 his part, Mary maintained a heavy silence throughout the ride. 
 
 But at the party they unbent, and on the lovely moonlit ride 
 home through the rustling autumn woods and the fragrant breezes 
 of a prairie night, he made bold to reach across and take hold of 
 her hand. She let him take it. 
 
 When at last he helped her down from her horse at Abells', he 
 held her in his arms. She was a large armful, but he liked her like 
 that. 
 
 "Mary, I know I'm a poor excuse for a man, but would you 
 marry me anyway? It might be I'd improve if you took me in 
 hand." 
 
 For a long moment she looked up at his earnest, thin face in the 
 blazing light of a moon that was sailing middleways over a Septem- 
 ber sky flecked with racing white clouds. There was an excitement 
 in the night, a restless urgency in clouds and wind. 
 
 "Give me a little time, Abraham," she said, a bit breathlessly. 
 
 148 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "I'll have to think about it for a while." 
 
 With a quick pressure on his arms and a flashing smile, she went 
 hurriedly into the house. Left standing outside, with his usual 
 indecision, Lincoln could not figure out whether he was sorry or 
 glad that she had not given him an answer. The weeks went by 
 and still he did not receive word of any kind from her. 
 
 "She'll marry him, you mark my words/' said Dulcena Good- 
 pasture, placidly knitting. 
 
 "Ever since he passed that bar examination and has become a 
 proper lawyer, she'd be a fool not to take him, rough as he is. 
 You can overlook an awful lot in a man if he makes a good living." 
 
 "She's an old maid and likely not going to have too many more 
 chances in this life to find her a man. She better take one whilst 
 she can and don't let him get off the hook now." 
 
 "Oh, she will, she will. She's just playin' him, pretendin' to be 
 hard to get. You take notice, though, she don't let her eyes off 
 him when they're in a crowd and the other girls are about. That's 
 why she come back, anyway, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Her sister, Lizzie Abell, says so. Said Mary was eager to wed that 
 Lincoln and he, her. They don't seem in no hurry, though. At their 
 age, they ain't got forever." 
 
 Certain of these conversations inevitably came to Lincoln's 
 ears. Some confirmed his own opinions. He did feel that Mary was 
 leading him on, yet holding back to be coy. She was keeping him 
 dangling, but was eager to marry him, whether he was willing to or 
 not. There were times when he felt he loved her terribly, and 
 there were other times when he felt she was too old (she was a year 
 older than he) and had gained far too much weight during her 
 absence in Kentucky ever to be very attractive again. There were 
 times when he wondered gloomily what on earth he had ever seen 
 in her, and other times when they were together that he felt she 
 was the fairest and dearest creature on earth, and all he could ever 
 want in a wife. Meanwhile, he waited for her answer. And still 
 the answer did not come. 
 
 149 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 J.VXatters had gotten exactly nowhere when Abraham Lincoln 
 had to leave for Vandalia, in November, 1836. The 1834 suit of 
 clothes still looked fairly impressive in New Salem but somewhat 
 rusty and worn as compared with the nattier outfits of John Todd 
 Stuart, Ninian Edwards, Orville Browning and others of his friends 
 and constituents in Vandalia. 
 
 Although the State House had changed, it was not as improved 
 as it might have been after all the trouble that had been taken to 
 better its condition. Vandalia had heard the talk that it was time 
 to move the capital to a more central spot. The people of the town, 
 in order to keep the capital where it was and thus not drain away 
 its annual source of prosperity, in desperation, tore down the old 
 building and erected a new, two-story State House with a cupola. 
 When the Legislature convened, however, these quarters were not 
 yet completed. The unpleasant, dank atmosphere and smell of wet 
 plaster permeated the place. 
 
 With John Stuart, who disconcertingly had been defeated for 
 Congress in 1836 and now was the Internal Improvements Con- 
 vention delegate, Abraham Lincoln inspected the new building. 
 The two were somewhat gratified to find that it was still too small. 
 
 "The Vandalia people were smart enough to build a new capitol 
 to keep us here," said Stuart, smiling. "But they should have been 
 smart enough to build a State House that would have room for 
 the ninety-one delegates of this session and allow for expansion 
 with the years to come. If we are crowded in 1836, what will we 
 be twenty years hence . . . fifty years! No, the capital city has 
 got to be moved, and that will be our job in this session! " 
 
 150 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "There's a great deal of talk about it already. Decatur wants 
 it and so does Jacksonville," added Lincoln. "Stephen Douglas 
 has been shouting about the location there. Alton wants it, wants 
 to put the capital closer to St. Louis and have a Mississippi River 
 port at the same time, and Springfield wants it badly, too. I reckon 
 a whole lot of other towns would fancy the honor, if they'd thought 
 of it in time. It looks like it will be quite a fight!" 
 
 Abraham Lincoln loved a fight. He had long since given up 
 battling with his fists. Now he indulged in tighter, tougher mental 
 combat. Political battles were something he could get his teeth 
 into. 
 
 The nine representatives from Sangamon County were primed 
 for any sort of fight. Not only were they the largest delegation from 
 any county — some sparsely settled counties sharing a fourth or 
 a third of a representative — but they were without much doubt 
 the most united in their aims, as well as the tallest as a group of 
 men. They became known as the Long Nine. 
 
 "If you'd lay us end to end, we'd stretch out all of fifty-four 
 feet," Lincoln countered with a laugh when someone commented 
 on the physical stature of the group. 
 
 Members of the Long Nine were agreed on fighting for a rail- 
 road and on bringing to Springfield the state capital. With another 
 election coming up in 1838, they could improve their outlook 
 by pleasing people of their home county and home towns now 
 while, at the same time, they maneuvered their political ends to 
 bring about what they and the whole state must agree to. 
 
 But, in the session of 1836-37, the main topic of argument was 
 not that of moving the capital, but the great Internal Improvements 
 Bill. As a bill, it was not yet written; it was merely an expanding 
 and explosive idea which grew bigger as men talked and argued 
 and days passed. What went into it would depend upon the mem- 
 bers at this session. 
 
 It would be a difficult bill to write, for Illinois, growing rapidly 
 in population but far behind its census figures in its improvements, 
 had a lot to demand of its legislators. Every county wanted some 
 form of improved means of transportation — a canal, a navigable 
 river, an improved road, a railroad — for without a better means of 
 
 151 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 getting about, progress in the prairie state was doomed. 
 
 There was considerable opposition and argument among factions 
 for and against the relative merits of railroads and canals, one pitted 
 against the other. The trader, Gurdon Hubbard from near Chicago, 
 who had made a fortune in furs among the Indians of that area, 
 had come down to Vandalia to lobby for a railroad for Chicago, 
 instead of the Illinois-Michigan Canal. 
 
 Hubbard was tall, handsome, magnetic and persuasive. He had 
 lived with the Indians and had married one. He had brought along 
 several striking Winnebago costumes. One day, to further his 
 cause, he donned one of them and, beating a skin-covered drum, 
 chanted a war song and danced a Winnebago war dance in the 
 House chamber. Everyone, including Lincoln, thoroughly en- 
 joyed this impromptu floor show and demanded encores. A good 
 deal of hard pounding of the gavel on the Speaker's desk was re- 
 quired to get the men back to business. 
 
 In spite of such diversions, the Long Nine held to its carefully 
 worked out plan. They were to vote for internal improvements — 
 for an improved road here, for a bridge there, for a deepened river, 
 for a canal or a railroad, whenever representatives from various 
 counties should ask for them. In return for these votes, the Long 
 Nine would ask for the support of these same representatives in 
 bringing the capital to Springfield. 
 
 They would have to hurry. The Long Nine met until late hours, 
 formulating their strategy. There was little time to lose because 
 they must get their lobbying done before the Internal Improvements 
 Bill was written. Here and there among the legislators — in the inn 
 dining room, in a taproom, in the drafty corridors of the capitol 
 building itself, wherever men were gathering after hours, Abra- 
 ham Lincoln and eight other big men quietly but firmly circulated, 
 promising to vote for a railroad line if its backer would vote for 
 Springfield. . . . 
 
 "I should like to be the DeWitt Clinton of Illinois," Lincoln 
 would say with his engaging, compelling humor, inserting himself 
 into a group, "and give to this fair state the advantage of transporta- 
 tion which Clinton himself gave to New York State with the 
 
 152 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 enviable Erie Canal. And it can be done, gentlemen, it can be done. 
 With enough backing, your bill will go through. Now, Sangamon 
 with its biggest delegation will gladly vote for your canal up near 
 Chicago, for your railroad in Morgan, if you will favor us with a 
 vote for Springfield as the next state capital. A centrally located, 
 excellent town for the seat of government, you may be sure, gen- 
 tlemen!" 
 
 "But Jacksonville— " 
 
 "Jacksonville needs a railroad, does it not?" Lincoln would say 
 smoothly, almost sadly. "If you want a railroad, then why not con- 
 cede the capital to Springfield and be certain that folk can get to 
 and from your fine little town. . . ." 
 
 And so, after a good deal of high-pressure lobbying, talking, 
 amending, rereading, more lobbying, promising, and finally voting, 
 they passed the Internal Improvements Bill. Not every county got 
 what it wanted. After all, funds were limited, and even these were 
 largely on paper. Two long railroads bisecting the state were to be 
 built, five rivers improved. The counties which benefited by neither 
 were to have funds for roads. Almost everyone was happy. 
 
 On the night the bill went through, all Vandalia turned out into 
 the January cold for a celebration. Great bonfires blazed to the 
 snapping winter stars. Toasts were drunk in every tavern and tap- 
 room. Not everyone may have got what he wanted, but he had 
 helped improve the sovereign state of Illinois, and that was some- 
 thing to shout over. 
 
 So far as the Long Nine were concerned, this piece of business 
 was only the preliminary to the matter most deeply concerning the 
 group from Sangamon. They could move around influencing men 
 to vote for the various paper promises of the Internal Improvements 
 Bill, but when the time came, the way might not prove so simple 
 for the change of the capital. 
 
 First, a bill had to be written, presented and passed, legalizing 
 the move from Vandalia elsewhere. This would be taken care of 
 with a minimum of opposition and trouble because only the Van- 
 dalia people wanted to keep the capital where it was. But when the 
 site of the new location must be decided, that was where the fight 
 
 153 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 would come. During the passage of the first bill, Abraham Lincoln 
 and certain other members of the Long Nine were absent from the 
 floor, while they moved about among groups, working toward the 
 Springfield vote. 
 
 After days of debate, in which Lincoln was foremost in thrust- 
 ing the most telling arguments — days of disappointment and of 
 tablings, of rereadings — the bill at last came to the Senate for a vote. 
 
 At first it seemed that nearly every man there was determined to 
 make his home town the new state capital. No less than twenty 
 towns were voted for, with Springfield ahead with thirty-five 
 votes. Jacksonville had only fourteen, in spite of Stephen Douglas's 
 hard work. Vandalia and Peoria tied with sixteen each. Alton had 
 fifteen, Decatur only four, while the rest had three, two, or only 
 one vote apiece. Railroad considerations — mere paper railroads as 
 yet — influenced men from many counties to vote for Springfield. 
 They felt that, out of loyalty to Lincoln and the Long Nine for 
 helping them get their railroads, they should now assist in getting 
 the capital moved to Springfield. 
 
 On the second ballot, Springfield's vote had risen to forty-four; 
 on the third to fifty-three. By the fourth and last ballot, Spring- 
 field had won with a total of seventy-three votes. The Vandalia 
 people were still stubbornly holding out for their home base, but 
 they had never been considered as too serious an opposition. Van- 
 dalia as capital of Illinois was finished. The work of the Long Nine, 
 exhausting and continuous and not always very aboveboard though 
 it had been, had paid off at last! 
 
 There was a party that night at Ebenezer Capps's tavern, across 
 the street from the doomed State House. The Long Nine, as hosts, 
 invited all the members of the Legislature to attend. Lincoln, de- 
 lighted at the prospect of a triumphal celebration, nevertheless felt 
 a few qualms as to how he should pay for his share of the proceed- 
 ings. 
 
 He watched the honorable legislators and their guests downing 
 huge quantities of free oysters, a great luxury imported from Bos- 
 ton. He saw eighty-one bottles of expensive champagne emptied by 
 
 154 
 
MOTHER, JUDGE GREEN CALLED, I DON T KNOW WHAT AILS HIM, BUT ABE S 
 MIGHTY SICK AND CLEAN OUT OF HIS HEAD, SEEMS LIKE! " 
 
HE RODE HIS HORSE AHEAD, LEAVING MARY TO CROSS THE CREEK UNATTENDED. 
 IT WAS ALMOST MORE THAN A WOMAN COULD ENDURE. 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 thirsty gentlemen whose voices had been raised in defense of Spring- 
 field. There were free cigars of the best Havana tobacco for all, 
 as well as quantities of nuts and raisins, salads, cakes and pies. There 
 were no less than no members present, with a lot of hangers-on, 
 townspeople, and strays who, scenting free food, came and ate 
 their fill. Abraham was mentally trying to compute the astronomical 
 figure of the bill, when the innkeeper presented it with a flourish 
 to the Honorable Ninian W. Edwards. 
 
 It was, after all, Mr. Edward's party. The bill came to $223.50, 
 almost as much as the Honorable Mr. Lincoln would make in his 
 entire three months of service in the Legislature. But Mr. Edwards 
 was a rich man and the sum was trifling to him. Mr. Edwards and 
 his aristocratic ways — his nose lifted always as if in a slight sneer, 
 his disgust with conditions in Vandalia and his casual mention of 
 or flourishing of wealth and social position — always slightly irri- 
 tated Lincoln. But the latter was wonderfully relieved and grateful 
 that Mr. Edwards should pay for the triumphal celebration. There 
 were, after all, some advantages to wealth and position! 
 
 Most of the important work of the session was over. A good 
 many members went home, but Lincoln and the Long Nine stayed. 
 There was a subject which had been worrying Lincoln for some 
 time and he thought there might be an opportunity to present 
 a bill now to do something about it. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln and Dan Stone, two of the Long Nine whose 
 voices had been so powerful a few days before, entered their pro- 
 test against slavery, on March 3, 1837. 
 
 "Slavery is founded both on injustice and bad policy," they 
 declared. "It seems to me that abolition agitation tends to rather 
 increase than abate its evils. Congress ought to have no power, 
 however, to interfere with slavery in any of the states, but it does 
 have the power to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia. " 
 
 As if his voice had been uttered against the wind of a turbulent 
 night, Abraham Lincoln's formal protest against the institution 
 of slavery, which had vaguely disturbed him for a long time, went 
 totally unnoticed. 
 
 No one was interested. 
 
 155 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 w 
 
 TTH1 
 
 hen the Long Nine came in triumph to Springfield, there 
 was a great bonfire near the town's whipping post in the public 
 square. There were speeches and parades, drinks and banquets 
 in honor of the men who had brought immortality to the mud- 
 holes of Springfield. 
 
 When it was over, Lincoln knew that it was time to go out to 
 New Salem and pick up his few belongings. There was nothing 
 now to give him a living in the dying village, nothing to keep him 
 there any longer . . . nothing but a certain young woman who 
 was probably still visiting her sister north of New Salem. 
 
 She had never given him a final answer, neither yea nor nay, 
 on the matter of matrimony. He had written to her many times 
 from Vandalia and had received a few well written but not overly 
 affectionate letters from her. They had bolstered him up immensely, 
 however, especially on those days when he was feeling low in spirits. 
 
 He still could not figure out how he was going to improve a 
 situation which he frequently wished himself well out of. He didn't 
 want to hurt Mary Owens, for whom he had much affection, re- 
 spect . . . and was it love ... or what? He wished he knew. 
 
 There were times when he wondered desperately if he were 
 really capable of loving any woman. Anyway, he heartily wished 
 he had held his tongue on that lovely moonlit night and had never 
 proposed, at least until he had had more time in which to think 
 it over. 
 
 Living for months away from New Salem, in the whirl of Van- 
 
 i 5 6 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 dalia, with the glamour and charm of Orville Browning's new wife, 
 as well as that of Elizabeth Todd Edwards and other ladies whose 
 wit and beauty had added delight to the more prosaic atmosphere 
 of the capital, had made New Salem and Mary Owens seem more 
 dull and dowdy than ever. 
 
 Not that Mary was dowdy. She always looked well groomed, 
 well turned out and dressed in the latest fashion. It seemed to him, 
 however, when he paid a call on Mary, over at the Abells', on his 
 return from the capital, that she seemed a trifle stouter than when 
 he had seen her last. She looked so much older, too, but that may 
 have been because he compared her with the very, very young 
 Mrs. Browning. 
 
 Mary's eyes were just as blue, her black hair just as curling, her 
 mind just as keen, her conversation just as rapier-sure as before, 
 but he couldn't get over how she had changed. Or perhaps it was 
 only he himself who had changed. He couldn't be sure. He only 
 knew that he couldn't go on like this, not knowing what his future 
 would be ... if it would be with or without Mary Owens. 
 
 Abraham's horse, which had been stabled in Springfield during 
 his absence in Vandalia, took him inexorably to New Salem and 
 climbed the hill to the almost empty village, then continued on to 
 the northwest, on the trail to the Abells' house. And she was there. 
 
 "Mary," he began desperately, taking her hand and leaping at 
 once into the business on his mind. "Mary, I've just got to know. 
 Will you marry me? What have you decided?" 
 
 Mary Owens smiled archly up at him and laid her other hand 
 over his. 
 
 "You will have to give me just a little more time, Abraham," 
 she said sweetly. "Just a little more time." 
 
 It was hopeless. She was determined to hold on to him just firmly 
 enough so that he could not break away and be free, yet she would 
 not commit herself. He felt trapped in quicksands, slogging des- 
 perately this way and that to escape, yet being sucked back again 
 and again, grasping wildly at bushes, pulling himself out a little 
 way, only to feel the entrapping sands still holding him. 
 
 157 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 In deep gloom he rode back to Springfield, to find a place in 
 which to live. 
 
 This was not as simple a matter as he had hoped it would be. 
 At New Salem, although Lincoln had never lived in any place he 
 could call his own, he felt that he had many homes, as many as 
 there were cabins in the village and out beyond. Everyone was 
 his friend. Everyone invited him to eat and sleep whenever he 
 needed it. At times he had boarded at the tavern or at the Camrons' 
 but it had never strained his pocketbook. 
 
 But in Springfield it was different. For one thing, the town was 
 so much bigger. He knew a few people, but not many. It was 
 lonesome to walk along a street and not recognize a soul, nor have 
 anyone hail him and stop to talk. Besides, finding a place to stay 
 meant forking over his hard-earned pay regularly, and after a 
 few inquiries at boardinghouses and at the Globe Tavern, he was 
 afraid he would have to camp out in the woods if he wanted a 
 place to sleep. 
 
 Thinking that, if he had his own furniture, he could rent an 
 empty room for less, he went to young Joshua Speed's store, to 
 ask the price of bedclothes and a bedstead of the plainest sort, but 
 the sum Speed asked discouraged him. 
 
 "It's too dear, Speed, I'm sorry," Lincoln said in a state of gloom. 
 "I reckon I'll have to think of something else." 
 
 "What's the matter, Lincoln?" asked Speed, who was handsome 
 and well educated. His store was a gathering place for other young 
 men of the town; his rooms upstairs were an evening meeting spot 
 for fellowship and conversation. "Can I help you out?" 
 
 "Well, Speed, it's just this. I've got to have a place to live if I'm 
 to work in Springfield, but until I can make regular wages on some 
 law cases, I'm too poor to pay the prices landlords are asking, and 
 I can't even buy the fittings to sleep on. I reckon I'll have to try 
 somewhere else, thank you kindly, Speed." 
 
 The friendly young merchant smiled. He put out a detaining 
 hand. 
 
 "Look here, Lincoln. No need to hunt farther. I've got a big 
 
 i 5 8 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 room upstairs. Some of my clerks sleep there. If you think you 
 could put up with me and my ways, you're welcome to camp 
 there for as long as you want. What do you say?" 
 
 A lovely light shone over Abraham's lean face and his hand shot 
 out to grasp that of Josh Speed. Springfield, after all, was very 
 much like New Salem. 
 
 "I say that's just bully!" cried Lincoln. "You've got a roomer, 
 Speed. Wait till I get my saddlebags, and I'll be moved!" 
 
 Abraham Lincoln settled down in Springfield. He took a few 
 minor cases which came to John Stuart's firm, and with each one, 
 he felt a greater sense of power and confidence. Still and always, 
 however, plaguing him night and day when nothing else could con- 
 trive to crowd the thought out of his mind, was Mary Owens and 
 the answer which she never gave. 
 
 Not until the following autumn, 1837, would she finally reply. 
 
 "Have you decided, Mary?" 
 
 "Yes, Abraham," she began, and his heart set up a faster pound- 
 ing. Here it was at last! "I have decided." There was a long pause 
 in which he was sure she could hear his heart hammering. 
 
 "I'm sorry, but I really do not wish to marry you. It was hard 
 to make up my mind because I am really very fond of you. But 
 I know this will be better for both of us. We could never be happy 
 together. Good-bye, and God bless you." 
 
 The blow was between the eyes and Abraham blinked, looking 
 down at her, not quite comprehending the full import of what she 
 had said. He had felt so sure that he knew what it was going to be. 
 
 "You won't—?" 
 
 He realized he hadn't known until this moment that he loved 
 her so much. In the searing impact of losing her, he began to under- 
 stand that he had been in love all this time, in his own clumsy way, 
 and on being given the freedom which for so long he had felt was 
 his sole wish in life, he wanted only to be enthralled forever. 
 
 He let his horse find the way back to Springfield, as he unhappily 
 tried to figure out why and where he had failed. 
 
 159 
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 A 
 
 month later, in November, when Abraham Lincoln was 
 certain that Mary Owens had gone back to Kentucky, he ventured 
 to ride over to pay a visit to the Greens, who still lived outside the 
 defunct village. 
 
 It was painful to move along the haunted, grass-grown street 
 which once had known so much activity. Only a handful of people 
 still remained, and they would leave soon. It seemed that half his 
 life lay buried in the gaping cellar-holes where cabins had been 
 taken away, to be rebuilt down in Petersburg. There were mem- 
 ories, too, in the run-down tavern and other familiar spots which 
 still stood. He knew he should not have come — it made him too 
 sad — but he was lonely for a talk with Judge Green and some of 
 the others with whom he had once had so many rousing good 
 evenings of argument and conversation. 
 
 But the conversation that night was not pleasant nor happy. 
 
 "What is going to happen to the nation anyway?" Mentor Gra- 
 ham exclaimed bitterly, scowling under his sandy-red eyebrows. 
 "It's getting worse instead of better and how it will end scares me 
 to think of it!" 
 
 "Slavery is a sin against God and man," pointed out Doctor 
 Allen, who, as a New Englander, was violently opposed to slavery. 
 
 The Reverend Berry nodded vigorous agreement. 
 
 "It's against the Constitution of the United States, against de- 
 mocracy, against all the principles laid down by the founding 
 fathers! " the doctor went on soberly. "How can we make bold to 
 call ourselves good Americans when we permit slavery in our 
 land?" 
 
 1 60 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 The others nodded, their faces serious and worried. 
 
 "We read, 'All men are created equal . . . the right to life, 
 liberty and the pursuit of happiness,' Doctor Allen went on. "But 
 I figure that these are only hollow sentiments when we do not 
 keep them, or when we limit them only to certain members of 
 the human race. It is a disgrace in the face of the world that we 
 hold human beings in bondage in a land settled for and by free 
 men!" 
 
 "Well, but how can you stop slavery now?" asked Lincoln, 
 flinging out both big hands in an anguished sort of gesture. "How 
 can you stop a tidal wave, destroy a mountain, dry up a sea?" 
 
 "Slavery is man-made," pointed out Doctor Abell quietly. "And 
 what man has created, man can destroy." 
 
 "Perhaps," assented Lincoln, looking at the floor. "I know that 
 America can't keep on being half slave and half free without de- 
 stroying one part or the other of itself! We've got slavery; man- 
 made or not, it's here. It's like a disease, a horrible, disfiguring 
 mutilation, but we've got it and I believe it would rend the nation 
 apart to attempt to abolish it now!" 
 
 "We chased out the British when they had our country," Judge 
 Bowling Green defended his cause, puffing on his pipe. "It was a 
 bad fight and a long one. It killed a lot of our people and theirs, 
 and almost ruined the economy of a new nation. It had every reason 
 in the world to be a losing battle — we puny ones against the whole 
 British Empire and the Hessian mercenaries thrown in! We likely 
 might have failed, but we went in and cleaned them out and made 
 us a United States." 
 
 "This is hardly the same," commented Mentor Graham drily. 
 
 "Well, anyway," went on Green, standing up for his point. "It 
 was the British who brought the slaves here in the beginning, and 
 they ought to have been sent back at that time. That's what we 
 need to do about slavery — wipe it out, make it illegal, destroy it, 
 once and for all, be a clean, pure nation ... if we were men 
 and didn't take the South's dictates as law." 
 
 "How are you going to go about ending slavery, Judge?" Abra- 
 ham broke in petulantly, almost angry. "It isn't like chasing out 
 the British, as Graham mentioned. They were white men, free 
 
 161 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 men, with homes over the seas. They were mighty glad to give up 
 and go home, I reckon. 
 
 "It isn't that easy with the Negroes. We brought them here — 
 we or the British, it doesn't really matter now. They didn't come 
 because they wanted to or because they wanted to conquer and 
 rule our land. We captured them as if they were wild animals and 
 sold them like animals, as if they had no human feelings or sensi- 
 bilities. We've kept most of them from getting an education and 
 living like upright human beings. I saw some of it in the South 
 and it sickened me!" 
 
 Lincoln paused, remembering the slave market in New Orleans; 
 the runaway slave, Caleb, who had ridden on the flatboat with him 
 and his companions a little way, to escape dogs and men who were 
 on his trail; remembered dimly, as if in an endless passageway into 
 the past, how his mother used to talk against slavery. 
 
 "America has a responsibility to these poor people," he went 
 on, thinking as he went. "If we should end slavery, what would 
 happen? They would be free, and what is freedom to a former 
 slave? Would he know how to work for himself, make a living, 
 he who has been thought for and taken care of by his master all 
 his life? Gentlemen, it's a mighty touchy subject. An awful lot 
 of men are getting involved in it, and I reckon there'll be a whole 
 lot of trouble before they're through, if they ever are." 
 
 Abraham put his head in his hands and rubbed his skull, as if 
 to massage ideas into it, until all his coarse black hair stood up as 
 though a wind had whipped through it. 
 
 "Well, it's not your problem, nor ours, either, I guess," soothed 
 Doctor Abell. "The nation has handled slavery longer than we 
 have lived, and I suppose it will continue to do so long after we 
 are all forgotten." 
 
 "Yes, but it is our problem," contradicted Lincoln. "Look, there 
 are all those things that are happening now that didn't happen 
 before. Abolition isn't the solution, but men like Garrison are sure 
 trying hard and getting hurt for their pains." 
 
 "Yes, I recall that incident about a man down in Petersburg, 
 Virginia, who was whipped and driven out of town a few years 
 ago," put in Judge Green, "all because he said that the blacks, as 
 
 162 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 men, were entitled to their freedom and ought to be emancipated." 
 
 "They've been tarring and feathering men for subscribing to 
 abolition papers," went on Lincoln. "They're trying to forbid 
 abolitionist meetings. It all adds up to awful trouble. I read, too, 
 that editor Lovejoy has finally had to move his press out of St. 
 Louis to Alton, because he printed abolitionist propaganda, and 
 now they've already torn up and thrown his press into the river! 
 And this in Illinois, mind you!" 
 
 "Elijah Lovejoy acted like a fool," declared the Reverend Berry 
 warmly. "He baits his enemies with high-flown oratory in his news- 
 paper and throws abolitionist nonsense into their teeth, then howls 
 when they set upon him to retaliate! " 
 
 "If abolition isn't the solution to the problem, then what is?" 
 inquired Doctor Allen mildly as Mrs. Green quietly passed cups 
 of fresh, hot coffee to the guests. 
 
 Lincoln helped himself to a crisp Baldwin apple from the bowl 
 on the table. 
 
 "Well, it seems that if better minds than ours haven't found 
 the solution, it's hardly up to us," put in Abraham, munching 
 loudly on the apple. "But it does seem to me that at least slavery 
 could be kept out of the new territories. It should be kept in the 
 South where it's always been, and prevented from spreading as the 
 nation grows. Before long, the whole of America all the way to the 
 Pacific will become part of the United States. If slavery goes into 
 all that tremendous area, the North and its principles will be over- 
 ridden and we'll become a slave-owning nation!" 
 
 "You paint a horrid picture, Lincoln," put in Graham sarcas- 
 tically. "What do you suggest to prevent it?" 
 
 "I have no suggestion," went on Lincoln. "It's the South's prob- 
 lem. We would have their everlasting hatred if we should abolish 
 slavery and destroy their economy. I doubt if the South could 
 exist without slaves. I just don't think it ought to be allowed to 
 spread, though . . ." 
 
 There came a sudden knocking at the door. Breathless, Jack 
 Kelso burst in. 
 
 "I just heard! They've killed Lovejoy down at Alton!" he cried, 
 
 163 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 sinking into a chair, out of breath from his run across the woods, 
 up and down a hill and a ravine. "Harvey Ross brought the news 
 from Springfield. Three days ago — they threw Love joy's fourth 
 printing press into the Mississippi River. They'd broken up and 
 destroyed his three other ones, as fast as he got them. This one was 
 stored in a warehouse down near the river. They broke in, tore 
 it apart, threw the whole thing into the water, and then the mob 
 besieged Mr. Love joy and his friends. They were held at bay like 
 animals in that warehouse!" 
 
 Abraham, who always came to a slow boil inside when he heard 
 of the persecution of men or animals, sat forward in his chair, hands 
 gripped between his knees, his lips tight. 
 
 "Go on," he said. 
 
 "Well," continued Kelso, "there were shots, and several men 
 were killed. They shot Lovejoy, carefully and on purpose. Killed 
 him like a dog. And next day they had a trial — a trial, they call it! 
 A farce! The men who did all the damage and murdered a fine man 
 were all acquitted. And they call it justice!" 
 
 The men sat silently after their first exclamations. There was so 
 little anybody could say. None of them were personally acquainted 
 with Elijah P. Lovejoy, newspaper editor of St. Louis, but they 
 felt personally stunned by the tragedy. It was not the death of 
 one man, it was an attack on human liberty, on the right of free 
 speech, on the freedom of the press. 
 
 "Freedom of the press," said Abraham Lincoln, to no one in 
 particular. "Freedom! Good night, all." And he got up, put on 
 his coat and wrapped a length of comforter around his neck, 
 put on his tall hat, shook hands all around, nodded to Mrs. Green, 
 who watched him anxiously, and went out into the dark November 
 night. Pondering, deep in thought under the silent winter stars 
 and the chill light of a half moon frosting the prairie, Abraham 
 Lincoln headed toward Springfield. A hunting fox loped across 
 the road in front of his horse, which shied slightly but resumed its 
 steady gait. Frontier horses were accustomed to small surprises like 
 foxes and prairie wolves, or the sudden roar of prairie chickens 
 starting up. The November night was glistening with heavy white 
 
 164 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 frost under the setting moon before he rode into Springfield and 
 came to Speed's lodging place. 
 
 Several months later, on a crisp January night in 1838, Abraham 
 Lincoln, as guest speaker, got up to address the Young Men's 
 Lyceum in Springfield. His suit was well brushed and his shoes 
 were blacked and polished. He had planned and written out and 
 memorized what he was going to say. He would pound home some 
 of the facts of this bitter period in which some men were growing 
 fearful of expressing their views. 
 
 "In the great journal of things happening under the sun," he 
 began, looking down at the interested young masculine faces be- 
 fore him in the drafty hall, "we, the American People, find our 
 account running, under the date of the nineteenth century of the 
 Christian Era. We find ourselves in the peaceful possession of the 
 fairest portion of the earth, as regards extent of territory, fertility 
 of soil, and salubrity of climate. . . . We, when mounting the 
 stage of existence, found ourselves the legal inheritors of these 
 fundamental blessings. We toiled not in the acquirement or estab- 
 lishment of them — they are a legacy bequeathed us by a once hardy, 
 brave and patriotic, but now lamented and departed race of ances- 
 tors. Theirs was a task (and nobly they performed it) to possess 
 themselves and through themselves, us, of this goodly land; and to 
 uprear upon its hills and its valleys, a political edifice of liberty 
 and equal rights; . . . this task of gratitude to our fathers, justice 
 to ourselves, duty to posterity, and love for our species in general, 
 all imperatively require us faithfully to perform. 
 
 "How, then, shall we perform it? At what point shall we expect 
 the approach of danger? By what means shall we fortify against 
 it? Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant, to step the 
 Ocean, and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe, 
 Asia and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our 
 own excepted) in their military chest; with a Bonaparte for a com- 
 mander, could not by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make 
 a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years." 
 
 He paused, and the young men clapped heartily. 
 
 "At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? 
 
 165 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It can- 
 not come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must our- 
 selves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must 
 live through all time, or die by suicide." 
 
 Again the audience burst into applause, this time hardly before 
 he had put his period. He bowed, acknowledged their approval. 
 
 "I hope I am over wary;" he continued, "but if I am not, there 
 is, even now, something of ill-omen amongst us. I mean the in- 
 creasing disregard for law which pervades the country; the growing 
 disposition to substitute the wild and furious passions, in lieu of 
 the sober judgment of Courts, and the worse than savage mobs, 
 for the executive ministers of justice. . . . Accounts of outrages 
 committed by mobs, form the everyday news of the times. They 
 have pervaded the country, from New England to Louisiana. . . . 
 
 "It would be tedious as well as useless to recount the horrors 
 of all of them. Those happening in the State of Mississippi, and 
 at St. Louis, are, perhaps, the most dangerous in example, and re- 
 volting to humanity. ... In the Mississippi case, they first com- 
 menced hanging gamblers . . . next, Negroes . . . then white 
 men supposed to be in league with Negroes, and finally strangers 
 . . . till dead men were seen literally dangling from the boughs 
 of the trees ... in numbers almost sufficient to rival the native 
 Spanish moss of the country, as a drapery of the forest. 
 
 "Turn, then, to that horror-striking scene at St. Louis. A single 
 victim was only sacrificed there. His story is very short; and is, 
 perhaps the most highly tragic. ... A mulatto man . . . was 
 seized in the street, dragged to the suburbs of the city, chained to 
 a tree, and actually burned to death; and all within a single hour 
 from the time he had been a freeman, attending to his own business, 
 and at peace with the world." 
 
 As he developed his speech and watched the mobile young faces 
 below him swayed with the tragedy he told, Abraham Lincoln 
 could feel once again a rising tide of anger, grief and desperation 
 working within himself. He was only a young and not too pros- 
 perous lawyer, but he felt almost as if the terrible plight of the 
 whole nation were saddled upon his shoulders. 
 
 The ghost of Elijah P. Love joy was present and ever with him, 
 resting upon his soul and upon his conscience as he felt it must 
 
 1 66 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 rest upon everyone in that hall, a public conscience gibbering 
 from every man's bed post until the wrong was made right. 
 
 "By the operation of this mobocratic spirit, which all must admit, 
 is now abroad in the land," he went on, u the strongest bulwark 
 ... of any Government . . . may effectually be broken down 
 and destroyed. . . . Whenever the vicious portion of population 
 shall be permitted to gather in bands of hundreds and thousands, 
 and burn churches, ravage and rob provision stores, throw printing 
 presses into rivers, shoot editors, and hang and burn obnoxious 
 persons at pleasure, and with impunity; depend upon it, this Gov- 
 ernment cannot last! . . . 
 
 "The question recurs, 'how shall we fortify against it?' The 
 answer is simple. Let every American, every lover of liberty, every 
 well wisher to his posterity, swear by the blood of the Revolution, 
 never to violate in the least particular, the laws of the country; 
 and never to tolerate their violation by others. As the patriots of 
 seventy-six did to the support of the Declaration of Independence, 
 so to the support of the Constitution and Laws, let every American 
 pledge his life, his property, and his sacred honor. . . . Let rever- 
 ence for the laws be breathed by every American mother, to the 
 lisping babe that prattles in her lap — let it be taught in schools, 
 in seminaries, and in colleges; — let it be written in Primers, spelling 
 books, and in Almanacs; — let it be preached from the pulpit, pro- 
 claimed in legislative halls, and enforced in courts of justice. And, 
 in short, let it become the political religion of the nation. . . ." 
 
 It was over and the young men were crowding around to shake 
 his hand and thank him for his stirring and inspiring address. 
 
 Next day, he received a letter of thanks from the president of 
 the Lyceum, with a request for a copy of his address to print in 
 the newspaper. 
 
 He had composed it sketchily in the beginning, on scraps of 
 paper, until he had it in his mind, but he thought he could write 
 it out about as he had said it, perhaps polishing it up here and there, 
 which was easier to do on paper than when he was speaking. It 
 was printed in the Sangamo Journal, on February 3, 1838. He 
 rather liked the appearance of it, but felt he might have done better 
 here and there. 
 
 167 
 
CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 A 
 
 braham Lincoln felt he had never been more lonely in all 
 his life. It was a very different quality of loneliness than he had 
 known when he was on the river or by himself in the woods. He 
 had enjoyed that, had talked aloud to himself and to the wild things, 
 had done a lot of thinking. But loneliness in a city, he found, was 
 different. Coupled with it was his feeling of inferiority and his 
 ignorance of social behavior, something the woods had never taught 
 him. 
 
 Aside from providing a means of making a living, life in the 
 new capital was not as entertaining nor as fascinating as Abraham 
 had figured. It seemed to him, sometimes, that he had enjoyed him- 
 self far more in New Salem. At least everyone knew him there, and 
 he them. There was life in New Salem and he was part of it. In 
 Springfield — well, he guessed the life was there, but he seemed to 
 be more on the outside, looking in. 
 
 He was acquainted with politicians and lawmakers at the slowly 
 rising, new stone State House, but hardly any of them ever invited 
 him to come home to supper and spend the night — not they! He 
 had met no ladies. Only one, he moped, had spoken to him since 
 his arrival, and she had only opened her mouth because she had 
 to, since he was clumsily standing on the hem of her gown and 
 she could not move away from his neighborhood until he stepped 
 off. 
 
 Sometimes he wished he had had the sense to make Mary Owens 
 his wife, so he could have her here with him. Yet she, who loved 
 
 168 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 fine things, would have had to sit by and watch other ladies, 
 noses in air, flourishing about in carriages without being able to 
 join them as an equal. He felt she would have had a hard time 
 bearing his poverty with grace and patience, and he knew also that 
 she had been wise in refusing him. For that matter, the kind of 
 woman he wanted for a wife "would feel that way. And his thoughts 
 churned unhappily and got him nowhere. 
 
 Loneliness, therefore, besieged Abraham night and day. Living 
 with Joshua Speed helped matters very little. Speed was the melan- 
 choly, introspective sort himself. Still, he was young, slim, wonder- 
 fully handsome, striking, with his black eyebrows and expressive 
 mouth, and he had money. Most of the girls sighed over him, wrote 
 rhapsodic pages about him in their secret diaries, were thrilled when 
 he singled out one of them to escort to parties or plays. Joshua 
 Speed was always getting involved in fleeting love affairs which 
 he somehow got out of with brisk dispatch when he discovered how 
 seriously they were trending. He seemed just as unsure of himself 
 as Abraham, however, just as much afraid of getting involved in 
 marriage, yet often he was just as eager for it. 
 
 "If I could be assured that I would be a proper husband, if I 
 felt I knew' how to act with a woman," Speed might exclaim to 
 his sympathetic friend, "could support her in comfort, nurse her 
 in sickness, and still retain my individuality, my own life, I might 
 consider it, but it just seems too much for a man to take on, blindly 
 like that. How can a bachelor know how to be a husband? " 
 
 And Speed would pace, and Lincoln would try to convince him 
 that he really was a fine, conscientious fellow and any girl should 
 be proud to marry him. Lincoln had observed, besides, that any 
 number of them would gladly take on that charming prospect any 
 time the skittish Speed popped the question. 
 
 And so young Speed would be cheered up. Then perhaps the 
 very next day he would have the task of trying to brighten Lin- 
 coln's melancholy heart and long countenance. Oftener, though, 
 Abraham went out alone, night after night, just walking. While 
 the dogs of Springfield were barking to a sailing moon, and an 
 urgent wind blew mysterious messages past the trees and gardens, 
 
 169 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 he walked the slippery plank sidewalks until they ended. He kept 
 on walking over the new spring grass, trampling down the closed- 
 up spring beauties where woods had been but lately shorn, crack- 
 ing off mayapple umbrellas, hearing the frogs chorusing and jin- 
 gling in the ditches and trying to ponder the mysteries of life, love 
 and man on earth. He never resolved very much but came home 
 late, shoes muddy, hair on end, to crawl in beside Josh Speed, who 
 was already long asleep. Sometimes Abraham lay awake, still think- 
 ing, until morning. 
 
 He was, however, making enough to live on. He was earning 
 more than he ever had in his life. His debts were paid. The 
 "National Debt" was finally all cleared away to the last penny. 
 Law cases, not all of which he won, and not all of which were 
 paid for, were coming along. He was appointed to the Circuit 
 Court, which meant going to one town and then another during 
 the period of the judicial circuit and holding forth as a lawyer. 
 His equipment, legal papers and files were contained in his worn 
 saddlebags and in his tall hat. 
 
 Riding the circuit was interesting and a change. Abraham liked 
 it. He became acquainted with more towns in Illinois than he had 
 visited before, met more people, made more friends, ran into more 
 different kinds of human troubles that had to be ironed out with 
 wit, wisdom and judicial pondering, than ever before. Work took 
 his mind off his inner unrest, loneliness and feeling of inferiority, 
 and he was thankful for that. 
 
 Work and brooding, however, did little to help Abraham's low 
 moods. He needed to be with people. He and some of the other 
 young men of Springfield felt they might enliven the dull course 
 of events if enough young ladies should be persuaded to attend 
 the initial session of the Legislature, when it opened for the first 
 time in Springfield. That town's society had a solid core of re- 
 spectability and elegance, including some very personable young 
 ladies, but there were hardly enough of them. Besides, there were 
 certain charming girls who were very much missed by the legislative 
 gentlemen, who remembered the gay times in Vandalia. 
 
 170 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 If the very young Mrs. Browning could be cajoled into coming 
 from Quincy with her husband and bringing along her charming 
 sisters and any other eligible young ladies who might find Spring- 
 field's social season enjoyable . . . 
 
 "It's the best way I can think of to get a little life into this place," 
 concluded Lincoln, spokesman for the group of young men who 
 usually gathered nightly in Speed's rooms to talk. Abraham took 
 up a pen and started to write — most matters, he felt, could be solved 
 by writing. He liked to pen anonymous letters to the newspapers, 
 in defense of some special subject or to right a wrong, and he often 
 indulged in poetry of some length. Now he would turn his talents 
 to composing a letter which might bring the ladies to Springfield. 
 
 He addressed it politely, yet a trifle humorously, to the Honor- 
 able Mrs. Browning, and when completed, it was enthusiastically 
 approved and signed by half a dozen eager and eligible young 
 gentlemen. It was sent off on the next mail stage to Quincy. 
 
 If there was anything which the charming Mrs. Browning loved 
 it was attention from plenty of pleasant and adoring gentlemen. 
 Before long, therefore, Springfield received word that she and her 
 entourage were indeed on their way. 
 
 In a delighted flurry, Lincoln and his friends planned a splendid 
 party, a cotillion, for which special printed invitations were issued. 
 It would be held at the American House on the night of December 
 1 6, 1839, and the invitations were signed by sixteen gentlemen, 
 including Joshua Speed, Stephen Douglas, James Shields and Abra- 
 ham Lincoln. 
 
 The cotillion was a tremendous success. The food was delicious, 
 the music the best that was to be had in Springfield. The social set 
 of the town and its influx of new people, the wives and cousins 
 and sisters of the lawmakers, including Mrs. Browning and her 
 sisters, were all there. 
 
 The ladies were in their finest gowns obtainable outside New 
 York and New Orleans. The men were sleek in broadcloth and 
 high stocks and varnished boots. Lincoln had a new suit, his first 
 
 171 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 after that splendid affair in which he had made his debut in politics. 
 His shoes were as glossy and as tight and as uncomfortable as any- 
 one could wish; they pained him considerably all evening. 
 
 The dancing was already underway when Ninian Edwards 
 was announced. The Honorable Mr. Edwards, son of the first and 
 only territorial governor of Illinois, his head held at an aristocratic 
 angle, his clothes impeccable, made a most impressive entrance. 
 His handsome and imperious wife, Elizabeth Todd Edwards, cousin 
 of John Todd Stuart, was on his arm. The Edwardses arrived later 
 than most of the other guests. Elizabeth felt that this was fashionable 
 and in excellent taste. Besides, one made a far better entrance that 
 way. As social arbiter of Springfield, Elizabeth Edwards set fash- 
 ions; she did not follow them. 
 
 Beside her walked a small, beautifully dressed girl with coppery- 
 brown hair ornamented with flowers and pearls. Her wide-skirted 
 gown was of the most stylish mode, leaving the shoulders bare. 
 The high color of excitement pinked the stranger's lovely com- 
 plexion with an extremely becoming flush. 
 
 Mary Todd had come up from Kentucky, as her sisters had 
 done before her, to find a husband. Elizabeth, the eldest, had done 
 extremely well; so had Frances, the next in line. Mary, the most 
 self-willed and determined, had only recently come to Spring- 
 field on an extended visit which had but a single aim — though one 
 did not say so baldly, of course. 
 
 Mary had already met a number of pleasant and eligible gentle- 
 men. One was little Stephen A. Douglas, who, discovering the late 
 arrivals, paused for a certain effect in the doorway, hurried up to 
 greet them. 
 
 "My dear Miss Todd!" he exclaimed rapturously, taking her 
 plump, gloved hand in his and bending low over it, all the while 
 keeping his eyes on her face. This was not difficult, since both Miss 
 Todd and Mr. Douglas were about the same height. 
 
 "May I have the honor of this dance, dear Miss Todd?" he 
 begged, as the orchestra again struck up the music. The maid had 
 scarcely taken her cloak, when he swept her off. Stephen Douglas 
 was an expert dancer and so was Mary Todd. 
 
 172 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 He and the other young men kept Mary busy all evening. The 
 dances were all very familiar to her, for she had graduated from 
 Madame Mentelle's finishing school, in Lexington, and could not 
 be ill at ease in any event which the Sangamon country could 
 produce. 
 
 She was witty, she was charming, she glowed, she sparkled, her 
 feet wore wings, she laughed — wit with an edge to it, charm with 
 calculation, a glow with conscious knowledge of beauty behind 
 it, agility with an awareness of superiority, laughter quite often at 
 someone else's expense. It was all so neatly done that one could not 
 quite pin the stigma of unkindness upon her, yet often felt its hidden 
 barbs. Mary, however, loved a party. She had a delightful evening. 
 
 Miss Todd had not met Mr. Lincoln. Coming in so late, there 
 had not been an opportunity for all the hosts to be presented. Be- 
 sides, Mr. Lincoln was not one whom Ninian Edwards had invited 
 to his home to meet his womenfolk. 
 
 Abraham, meanwhile, had spent the evening happily circulating 
 among the guests. He had devoted some time to dancing very 
 poorly with the charming sisters of the fascinating Mrs. Browning, 
 as well as with that kindly lady herself. She was by far the most 
 talented woman in the charm department that Lincoln or any of 
 the others had ever known. 
 
 The women liked her, too, and the men certainly made fools 
 of themselves over her, some of the stout old ladies whispered be- 
 hind their fans. Her adoring husband, Orville Browning, smiling at 
 everybody, considered himself the luckiest man in Illinois, if not 
 the nation. 
 
 Mary Todd became aware of Mr. Lincoln when a giant bean- 
 pole figure, in a new suit which somehow didn't fit properly in the 
 right places, struggled past with a tolerant partner in his arms. The 
 partner usually was laughing at something he had said and was try- 
 ing at the same time to avoid being trampled by his unskilled feet. 
 
 Abraham was mentally berating himself for having neglected 
 learning how to dance properly. He could walk all the way from 
 Springfield to New Salem and not get winded, but trying to navi- 
 gate a ballroom with a feminine partner in billowing skirts wore 
 
 J 73 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 him out, confused him dreadfully, made him lightheaded and left 
 him breathless. Besides, his shoes pinched terribly and grew worse 
 as the evening grew warmer, the activity more stirring. 
 
 Mary Todd, casting her eyes around the room, was satisfied that 
 she had made an impression upon just about every gentleman pres- 
 ent, and had made every lady there, with the possible exception of 
 Mrs. Browning, look at her with a degree of envy and irritation. 
 At last, she focused on the tall beanpole with the awkward feet. 
 
 "Who is that man?" she asked Ninian Edwards, who had just 
 brought her an ice. 
 
 "Where? Oh — why, that's Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln. I thought 
 you knew him. You've surely heard of the fellow. I've sung his 
 praises for years. In the Legislature four terms, an able lawyer. Not 
 much money and certainly no family background worth mention- 
 ing — backwoods farmers, from what I hear — but he's got an excel- 
 lent brain, good reasoning power. Stuart thinks the world of him. 
 Got sense, my dear. Charm, too, though you'd never think it to 
 look at him." 
 
 "Pray introduce him to me, sir! You have been remiss in keep- 
 ing me away from this man with no background and much charm! " 
 Laughing, she waited in her chair as Ninian Edwards, indulging his 
 imperious sister-in-law, went up to the knot of men surrounding a 
 figure who sat, long legs crossed, resting his feet, regaling his 
 friends with a story. 
 
 With compelling dignity, Ninian Edwards firmly detached Lin- 
 coln from the appreciative group and returned to Mary with him 
 in tow. 
 
 "Miss Todd, may I present Mr. Lincoln? Mr. Lincoln, my sister- 
 in-law, Miss Mary Todd of Lexington. Two such fine intellects 
 should have the pleasure of each other's company! " 
 
 With this thrust, and ignoring his wife's glare, Ninian Edwards 
 turned and strode off. The music started up again, and Abraham 
 decided there was no help for it — in some embarrassment, he asked 
 Mary to dance. 
 
 It was not a highly successful performance. She was too short 
 for so tall a partner, and he didn't know how to hold her properly. 
 
 174 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 They endured the entire figure, struggling uncomfortably around 
 the floor, then thankfully retired to a couch and talked. 
 
 "You can see I'm a poor one at this sort of thing," apologized 
 Lincoln, mopping his perspiring forehead. "I hope I didn't hurt 
 you that time when I stepped on your foot." 
 
 "Not at all, sir," said Mary agreeably, though her foot pained 
 her unpleasantly. "I can see I shall have to teach you the art of 
 the dance!" 
 
 "I doubt if it would do much good, ma'am," he said hopelessly. 
 "I'm too old to make these long pins of mine behave in any way but 
 what they've been doing all these years. But I thank you kindly." 
 
 He sensed someone staring at him, and turned around quickly 
 enough to catch the eyes of Elizabeth Todd Edwards, across the 
 room, frowning at him in a most disconcertingly severe manner. 
 
 "I reckon Mrs. Edwards thinks I've kept you away too long, 
 ma'am. I'm sorry," he apologized again. "Let me take you over to 
 her." 
 
 "Perhaps it is time to go," suggested Mary, puzzled by her older 
 sister's forbidding expression. "It must be very late." 
 
 It was late. It was a surprise to Lincoln to find out suddenly 
 that the evening was over. The supper had been served with eclat 
 and plenty of fancy food — with an abundance of oysters and ham 
 and roast beef and salads and ices and champagne. Now it was, 
 incredibly, three o'clock in the morning, and the guests were call- 
 ing for their carriages. Everyone congratulated the bachelor hosts 
 on a most successful cotillion. 
 
 Lincoln agreed that it had been a fine party. He had a fearful 
 reluctance, now, to let go of the beautiful golden bubble which 
 was that festive evening. And Mary Todd . . . Mary Todd . . . 
 he hated seeing her go, too, hated the period lying between saying 
 good-bye and the moment when he might see her again. 
 
 "May I see you home, Miss Todd?" he asked eagerly, but with 
 not much hope that she would say yes. It was only a desperate 
 grasping at any straw. 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Lincoln," she replied primly, in her best Mad- 
 
 175 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 ame Mentelle manner, "but Mr. Edwards and my sister will escort 
 me. It has been a most pleasant evening, sir, and a delightful party. 
 I do thank you." 
 
 Abraham stood in the doorway and watched her depart. His 
 heart was misbehaving, even though he had vowed he would never 
 think of a woman again. This — this was different. Mary . . . 
 Mary . . . 
 
 Then he half heard Elizabeth Edwards hiss to Mary: 
 
 "Whatever were you thinking of, Mary Todd, spending all 
 that time with Mr. Lincoln! Don't you know he's a common, ordi- 
 nary backwoodsman, doesn't know how to act in society, has no 
 family background or connections? Don't you ever — " And her 
 voice was lost in the distance. 
 
 Abraham turned slowly back to the hall and got his hat and 
 coat. The joy of the party and the fun he'd had — and the inner 
 illumination he had felt when he was with Mary Todd — were 
 suddenly as ashes in his mouth. 
 
 Drenched in bitter loneliness, he walked slowly the long way 
 around the square and climbed tiredly upstairs to the room he shared 
 with Joshua Speed. Speed wasn't in yet. He was escorting his part- 
 ner home, and he might be all hours getting back. 
 
 Wearily, Abraham Lincoln turned in. It was no use. He was 
 common and he was ordinary and he was low-down and humble. 
 He had no family, at least not the kind that counted. He had known 
 nothing but log cabin living until he came to Springfield. Was it 
 any wonder he didn't know how to act in society? 
 
 But people like Elizabeth Edwards would never understand or 
 tolerate him Ninian Edwards was like that, too. He might accept 
 him as a constituent and appreciate his ability as a lawyer, but he 
 was never the kind to chance inviting him home to meet his family 
 and take supper or spend the night. But somehow, Abraham deter- 
 mined, he had to see Miss Todd again, even if it meant braving 
 the high-born scorn of Elizabeth Edwards. 
 
 Mary hadn't seemed offended by him, he thought. She had really 
 seemed to be having a right good time with him, except when he 
 tramped on her foot, but she was lady enough to dismiss that with 
 
 176 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 a smile. He wished he hadn't overheard what Mrs. Edwards had 
 said, though, and then he wished he could have heard it all, could 
 have listened in on just exactly what women like the fine Mrs. 
 Edwards thought of him — and what Mary had replied. He buried 
 his face in the pillow, groaned, turned over a couple of times in 
 bed, which creaked under him. He thumped the pillow, and then 
 sat up, his face against his knees. He finally lay down and was asleep 
 before Josh Speed, shoes in hand, came quietly up the stairs and 
 climbed in beside him. 
 
 Somehow, though, in spite of Elizabeth Edwards' objections, 
 Mary Todd and Abraham Lincoln found many occasions in which 
 to see each other. It was a gay winter in Springfield, with numerous 
 parties, and the two attended nearly all of them. Abraham dis- 
 covered that he felt more restless and unhappy when he was away 
 from her than when the two were together, but she coquettishly 
 reminded him that other men were paying court, too, and he really 
 could not see her every evening. 
 
 "There is Mr. Webb, sir, who is coming tonight," she said one 
 day when he was importuning her to let him call upon her in the 
 Edwards' parlor. "And Mr. Douglas has been promised for to- 
 morrow — he is escorting me to Mercy Levering's party. But per- 
 haps after that — " 
 
 Being put off made Abraham all the more eager. He burned with 
 unhappiness and anger, however, when he chanced upon Mary 
 flirting with other gentlemen. 
 
 "I don't know what you can be thinking of," scolded Elizabeth 
 Edwards sternly, seeing how often Mary was with Lincoln. "He 
 is a nobody and a nothing and never will amount to anything worth 
 while, not with his common, low background. He is awkward and 
 ugly and doesn't know how to dress, nor how to behave with a 
 lady. He is totally lacking in social accomplishments, Miss, and he 
 is not helping your reputation by being seen with you so frequently. 
 People will talk. They will say you are actually becoming serious 
 about him! You aren't, are you?" she pried. 
 
 177 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Perhaps I am, Lizzie," said Mary quietly, facing her sister. There 
 was a determined set to the Todd chin. Elizabeth, however, was 
 also a Todd. 
 
 "Then I shall have to forbid him to enter this house!" she said 
 coldly. 
 
 "Oh, Elizabeth!" put in Ninian Edwards indulgently as he saw 
 tears come into Mary's blue eyes. "Let the girl alone. She won't do 
 anything rash and neither will Lincoln. Mary knows his background 
 and would never stoop to marrying anyone like that. If he amuses 
 her — as I must confess he also amuses me, and the man does have 
 sense and a certain charm — then let her play. I predict nothing will 
 ever come of it. We are aristocrats, and Lincoln would never pre- 
 sume to rise above his station." 
 
 Mary said nothing more, but she set her lips in the line which 
 was well known among the strong-willed Todds. If she wished 
 to see Mr. Lincoln, she would see him, and whenever she liked! 
 
 The days went on, and the weeks and the months, and Lincoln 
 was torn again between what he wanted and what he knew was 
 best. He had come to love Mary with a deep-down, aching affec- 
 tion which he had never felt for any other woman. 
 
 When Abraham had proposed to Mary Owens he had fancied 
 he was in love, but he knew now that it was not that — not if what 
 he was feeling, night and day, for Mary Todd was the real thing. 
 And he knew that it was. And from the way she looked at him — 
 how she brightened as with a lovely glow when he came near her 
 and was sad when he had to leave, with the stern eye of Elizabeth 
 Edwards always watching — he was certain that Mary loved him. 
 
 Still, marriage — would he know how to be a husband? Did he 
 love her enough . . . could he provide properly for her . . . 
 what was love, anyway . . . was he really in love . . . did she 
 love him? Night after night, he lay awake or paced, pondering. 
 He discussed it lengthily with Joshua Speed, but resolved nothing. 
 
 It was a considerable surprise to Abraham Lincoln, therefore, 
 that, one evening, in the elegant parlor of the Edwards' mansion, 
 he took Mary's small, plump white hand in his big brown one and 
 
 i 7 8 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 asked her to marry him. 
 
 "I know I'm nothing much to look at, or have hardly anything 
 to offer you, Molly," he apologized, still holding the little hand 
 as if it were all that bound him to hope and happiness. "I can't 
 support you in the way you've been accustomed to, but I can give 
 you a heart full of love and will be faithful all our lives together. 
 Will you, Molly?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Lincoln," she said softly, looking up into his earnest 
 gray eyes, which were so straight and level and loving and un- 
 happy. She snuggled a bit closer. "I would live with you wherever 
 you went and in whatever manner you lived." 
 
 No date was set for the wedding that evening. 
 
 "I shall have to plan it with Elizabeth and Frances," said Mary, 
 inwardly quailing at the storm which she knew would rise when 
 her news was out. "But a summer wedding would be nice, when 
 the flowers are all in bloom and the weather fine." 
 
 And Elizabeth Edwards stormed. She threatened, and she wept. 
 Mary was firm. She, too, stormed and she, too, on occasions, wept 
 violently, so that the two Todd tempers clashed continually over 
 the conflict and got quite nowhere. 
 
 "I shall marry him!" cried Mary desperately one day, worn to 
 the breaking point by Elizabeth's incessant needling. "I shall, I 
 shall, I shall! And you cannot stop me! " She fled to her room, weep- 
 ing wildly, and went to bed with a blinding headache which made 
 her so ill and nauseated that she could not eat for three days. 
 
 When she was well again, she insisted that Abraham come to 
 call as usual. When he was let in by the little maidservant, who 
 wore a scared look on her narrow, pinched face, he knew something 
 was wrong. Mary was in the parlor. She attempted to be as gay as 
 always, but it was a forced gaiety, a forced brightness of con- 
 versation, brittle and almost hysterical. There was desperation in 
 her eyes. 
 
 Elizabeth Edwards stalked in. With a swish of her gown, she 
 seated herself across the room from the two. Abraham could feel 
 
 179 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 her eyes boring into him. His own lame conversation tapered off 
 and he sat silently, hands between his knees, staring at the roses 
 on the rug. Mary chattered on and on about nothing, but he 
 scarcely heard her. At nine, he got up wearily to go. 
 
 "Good-bye, Molly," he said, with unutterable sadness, taking 
 her hand more tightly than was needful and gazing with grief into 
 her unhappy eyes. "Good night, ma'am," he said, looking toward 
 Mrs. Edwards, who, unsmilingly, returned sharply: 
 
 "I bid you good night, Mr. Lincoln! " 
 
 He let himself out the big door with the frosted glass panes 
 ornamented with flowers. The chill of that fine house had entered 
 his soul. It had frozen him out, and he doubted if he had ever felt 
 worse in his life. 
 
 "I can't continue like this!" he confessed in desperation to Joshua 
 Speed, later that evening. "I'll have to break off with Molly. Maybe 
 if I write a letter — " 
 
 "No, you've got to do it in person," reproved Speed. "It's cow- 
 ardly to write a girl a thing like that. But don't be in a hurry or 
 you'll regret it all of your life, Lincoln. I'm sure Mary Todd loves 
 you, and you love her . . ." 
 
 "That may well be," returned Abraham bitterly. "But sure as 
 fate, Mrs. Edwards doesn't return the affection. I even have my 
 doubts about Mary, sometimes." 
 
 "You aren't marrying Mrs. Edwards," pointed out Speed, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "I might as well be!" retorted Lincoln unhappily. "When you 
 marry a Todd, you marry all the kin and connections and have 
 them on your neck for the rest of your life. I doubt if I could take 
 it for very long." 
 
 Two days later, he passed Mary Todd and Stephen Douglas in 
 animated conversation, riding in Douglas' fine carriage. Mary was 
 coquetting outrageously and apparently was having a delightful 
 time, while Mr. Douglas' face mirrored his adoration. 
 
 That night, Lincoln braved the chill of the Edwards' mansion. 
 
 "Mary," he began, with no more ado, "we simply cannot go 
 on like this. You would be happier with — someone else — while 
 
 1 80 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 I, well, I cannot continue calling at a house where I am not 
 wanted!" 
 
 It was out. He had said it. Bald though it sounded, it was the 
 truth. 
 
 Mary's face whitened, then flushed, as if he had struck her. 
 
 "Oh, no, no, Mr. Lincoln!" she cried, beginning to weep. "You 
 cannot be so cruel! Why, I — " 
 
 "Nothing is right; everything is going wrong," he insisted stub- 
 bornly, resisting her tears. "You have no need of me." 
 
 "Bui I do! Oh, please, Mr. Lincoln, I know what you are thinking 
 — There is nothing, nothing at all, between Mr. Douglas and my- 
 self. Nothing!" 
 
 He could feel himself melting, though he fought it down. He 
 simply must break off now and get it over with, so he could settle 
 down and not stew and fret over what he could not have. 
 
 "I am sure — " he began stiffly, when she flung herself into his 
 arms, which closed quite naturally around her, while she poured 
 tears onto his vest. 
 
 That did it! Instead of getting it over with promptly and coldly, 
 he held Mary in his arms and kissed away her tears. They spent 
 the evening talking quietly, making plans, promising eternal de- 
 votion. The doubts he had unhappily entertained had dissolved, 
 had become misty and unreal. He had not solved the problem of 
 placating the Edwards-Todd clique, but he felt more certain of 
 Mary's affection. 
 
 Christmas came and went. It was New Year's Day, 1841. Callers 
 arrived at the Edwards' mansion, to pay their respects and to drink 
 toasts to Mr. and Mrs. Edwards and to the coming year. Punch 
 was ladled from a big crystal bowl by a dignified Negro man- 
 servant. There was chicken salad and there were three kinds of 
 cake, and candies and nuts of many sorts. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, his desperation returning, hesitated to call, 
 even though Mary had invited him. Still, he came. After receiving 
 a frosted stare not only from Elizabeth Edwards but from his 
 friend, Ninian Edwards, as well, he felt he had reached the end. 
 
 181 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Nothing, now, not tears or promises or high hopes, could change 
 things. 
 
 "Come in here with me, Molly," he said in a low voice. "I've got 
 to see you alone." 
 
 They went into a small sitting room, empty at the moment. She 
 arranged her skirts around her on the sofa. He dropped into a chair 
 which was too small for him. His face was full of tragedy and he 
 felt almost physically ill with what he was going to have to say. 
 
 "Molly," he began hoarsely, not looking at her. "Molly — I — 
 we — can't go on any longer like this. Hasn't it all been a mistake?" 
 He dared a glance at her tense, white face, then dropped his eyes 
 again. 
 
 "Your sister is dead set against me; so is Ninian, though I wouldn't 
 have thought it of him. I guess it's different when you see your 
 sister-in-law throwing herself away on a man who grew up in a 
 log cabin and ate hog and hominy all his life and hasn't money or 
 position — or anything! I can't let you do it — I've got to stop seeing 
 you . . . you'll get over it, and maybe I will. . . ." He was 
 floundering miserably now. 
 
 In the heavy silence that fell he looked up and found Mary with 
 her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. He 
 could not stand that. He took two long strides and pulled her to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Don't! You mustn't, Molly! " And as she looked up with stream- 
 ing eyes, he enfolded the girl hungrily in his long arms and 
 smoothed the glossy, copper-brown curls. 
 
 They sat down on the sofa and Abraham comforted her until 
 she had stopped her weeping. 
 
 "You don't really mean it — do you — Mr. Lincoln?" she asked, 
 her breath catching in the sobs which still welled up inside her. 
 "It doesn't — matter — about Elizabeth — or anything!" 
 
 "Molly — my dear, I have to mean it!" he groaned, laying his 
 cheek down on her soft hair. "It won't work. And it most surely 
 never would while I feel like this. You would be throwing away 
 your life and your self-respect. You deserve the best, and I can 
 only give you mediocrity. . . . Molly, I just can't go on. Let me 
 
 182 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 go. Maybe later on things will be different. . . ." He really didn't 
 expect that they would be, but he had to utter some words of 
 hope. 
 
 She slid from his side and stood before him, small and grief- 
 stricken, her hands tightly clenched together. 
 
 "Good-bye — Mr. Lincoln," she said, and then her voice broke 
 and she fled from the room. He could hear her running up the 
 carpeted stairs and heard a door slam in the distance. 
 
 Elizabeth Edwards, silently and with an ill-concealed look of 
 triumph on her handsome face, let him out of the door. She closed 
 it quietly and very firmly behind him. 
 
 The gloom which settled upon Abraham after what he felt was 
 a despicable, if necessary, deed made him physically ill. He felt 
 that his mind was slipping. He could eat but little, could not work, 
 could only lie, weak and hopeless, in bed. His love for Mary, his 
 impossible situation with her family and the cruel manner in which 
 he had felt obliged to treat her raced around and around in his 
 brain, like a rat in a cage. 
 
 Doctor Anson Henry, his good friend, attended him daily and 
 tried to relieve his physical and mental anguish, but a doctor could 
 do little. Still, it was a comfort and a source of some inner strength 
 to have his beloved Doctor Henry at his bedside, to know he was 
 coming in each day. 
 
 "I hear that your Mr. Lincoln has quite lost his mind," said Eliza- 
 beth Edwards with considerable relish. "They say he is totally 
 insane. It is certainly sensible that you gave him up before you were 
 tied for life to a hopeless lunatic! " 
 
 There was nothing for Abraham to do but climb out of the de- 
 pression himself, to somehow evade the clammy grip of hypo- 
 chondria and self-condemnation which filled him. But it was a 
 difficult journey. So many things were happening to upset his good 
 and settled way of life. 
 
 For, on the same day that he had broken off with Molly, Joshua 
 
 i8 3 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Speed had sold his store. In a few weeks, he would be moving back 
 to Kentucky and the old family home, and Lincoln not only would 
 be bereft of a room and companionship, but of the chance to lay 
 his soul bare before this discreet and faithful friend, who also could, 
 in confidence, lay forth his own soul to be comforted. 
 
 Joshua stayed by Abraham until he was well. Thinner and more 
 hollow-cheeked, he was back at work before the end of that fatal 
 month of January. Speed moved to Kentucky. Lincoln went to 
 live at William Butler's comfortable home. 
 
 Mrs. Butler reminded him of some of the kind women he had 
 known in New Salem. She mothered him, saw that his clothes 
 were mended and that he took his umbrella when it was raining. 
 There were children in the household, and there was nothing like 
 a good romp with youngsters to cheer him up and chase away his 
 blues. 
 
 It took some time, however, to get back into the full swing of 
 work at Stuart's law office. On Lincoln's return, besides, it was 
 very plain that John Todd Stuart was not pleased at the way his 
 partner had neglected his work nor with the way in which he was 
 bungling even simple cases. It hurt the firm's reputation. 
 
 Besides, John Stuart was a Todd, and the Todds stuck together. 
 Much as he had liked Lincoln, so that he had even brought him 
 in as a partner, this did not mean that he favored him as a relative 
 by marriage. 
 
 If the autocratic Elizabeth Edwards, his cousin, did not want 
 Lincoln to marry Molly Todd, then it behooved the other members 
 of the family to uphold the situation. The other kinfolk in Spring- 
 field were doing it, standing aloof and not speaking to Mr. Lincoln 
 unless they could not avoid it. Consequently, John Stuart had to 
 stand behind their earnest efforts in making certain that the un- 
 desirable Mr. Lincoln did not become one of the family. 
 
 Stuart was not quite sure as to how he should do this. It was 
 a delicate situation; besides, he still liked the fellow. If he could 
 only get Lincoln out of Springfield. 
 
 "If you could secure for him a position of some sort quite far 
 away from here," suggested Elizabeth Edwards one day, "a position 
 
 184 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 with sufficient dignity, of course, so that he would want it. But 
 do try to manage one so far distant that he would seldom or never 
 get back to Springfield, at least so long as Mary is with us! 
 
 "Goodness knows what I shall do with the girl," she went on. 
 "Frances was never troublesome like that. She found an excellent 
 husband and settled down nicely, but Mary is in a dreadful state, 
 I assure you, John. She has had several bad spells of that devastating 
 headache from which she suffers periodically. If that man were 
 out of town, doubtless she would come to her senses — and would 
 feel better, besides! " 
 
 "Well, Lizzie," said John Stuart, thinking hard, "I shall see what 
 can be done." He was remembering something Lincoln himself 
 had said, one desperate day when everything went wrong — that 
 he wished he could get a job far, far away and start afresh. 
 
 In March, John Stuart recommended to the Secretary of State 
 in Washington that a certain capable Mr. A. Lincoln be appointed 
 as Charge d' Affaires in Bogota, Colombia. This was almost too 
 good to be true, Elizabeth Edwards exulted. South America was 
 as distant as the moon, at least so far as coming back to Springfield 
 was concerned. 
 
 But Abraham Lincoln refused to have anything to do with the 
 post, even if he should be approved for it. 
 
 "All right, then," said Stuart in anger, his lips tight and his usually 
 pleasant and handsome face cold. "I should rather think that, in 
 the light of the way in which you have neglected your work here, 
 we shall have to dissolve this partnership." 
 
 "As you say, Stuart," replied Lincoln listlessly. There had been 
 so many blows lately, this one failed to startle or hurt him very 
 much. It had been extraordinarily kind of Stuart to have let him 
 work here and gain a certain prestige by being associated with an 
 established lawyer and aristocrat, but Abraham had always felt it 
 was really no place for him. 
 
 However, Stephen T. Logan, who was also a prominent lawyer, 
 invited Abraham Lincoln to become a junior partner in his firm. 
 Lincoln thankfully moved his few belongings from Stuart's office 
 and settled in with Logan, whom he liked and admired. Then 
 
 i8 5 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Stuart, wishing a partner, played it safe by taking in Benjamin 
 Edwards, who was a brother of the estimable Ninian and brother- 
 in-law of the determined Elizabeth. 
 
 After that, it seemed to Abraham Lincoln that the crises of his 
 life were leveling off a bit, and maybe he would be able to live 
 normally again. Spring burgeoned beautifully in Illinois and then 
 early summer put the fragrance of wild strawberries among the 
 prairie grass as Lincoln set off on the judicial circuit for a round 
 of cases. In August, he went down to Kentucky, to visit Josh Speed 
 and his delightful family. 
 
 It was a long trip, both coming and going, and it meant a con- 
 siderable loss of fees from cases through being absent, but Abraham 
 felt that he needed to get away; the lure of seeing Joshua again 
 was all he required to make him set off. 
 
 It meant, too, that he would be on the rivers again, and he knew 
 that the very presence of those ever-moving waters would restore 
 a certain peace to his soul. He was trying his best to forget Mary 
 Todd, and the rivers, as much as anything, might help him to do 
 so. 
 
 He boarded a small steamboat at Beardstown and settled down 
 happily for a journey which took him over familiar waters, beside 
 familiar shores . . . down the Illinois, past the big cliffs, into the 
 Mississippi and on to St. Louis. 
 
 Here he boarded a larger steamboat, a fine, fancy, white affair, 
 with three decks and an assortment of more or less fashionable 
 passengers. The boat made many stops, wherever a landing showed 
 on the Mississippi's shores and someone waved to attract the pilot's 
 attention. At last the boat turned left, into the great, broad, beauti- 
 ful stream which was the Ohio River. Abraham hadn't been on the 
 Ohio since that time so long ago when he and Allen Gentry had 
 navigated a flatboat from Rockport, Indiana, to New Orleans. It 
 seemed about half a century ago, but it was really only about thir- 
 teen years. When he recollected how happy and delighted he was 
 on that trip, with the whole world before him and the rivers unroll- 
 
 186 
 

 IT WAS NOT A SUCCESSFUL PERFORMANCE. SHE WAS TOO SHORT FOR SO TALL A PART- 
 NER, AND HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO HOLD HER PROPERLY. 
 
THERE WAS ONE PARALYZED MOMENT IN WHICH EACH STARED AT THE OTHER. THEN, 
 WITH A GLAD CRY, MARY FLUNG HERSELF INTO THE LONG ARMS. . . . 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 ing for the first time to get him away from the backwoods, he 
 could almost wish he was that same hopeful boy again. 
 
 Visiting at the Speed plantation was the first real vacation Abra- 
 ham Lincoln had ever known. The unaccustomed experience of 
 having Negro servants waiting on him, tasted but briefly at Mad- 
 ame Duchesne's home on those two trips to Louisiana, was startling, 
 but it amazed him how quickly he became accustomed to it. The 
 Speed slaves were happy, well cared for individuals; he could see 
 how such as they would be content with their lot and slavery could 
 be considered not too undemocratic an institution. 
 
 But on his return journey down the Ohio and up the Mississippi, 
 together with Josh Speed, who had decided to go along for a visit 
 in Springfield, Lincoln saw some other slaves who confirmed his 
 earlier opinion of the evils of slavery. These were men and women 
 who were being taken to New Orleans to be sold. They were 
 chained together! 
 
 Lincoln saw them down on the lower deck, among the mules 
 and merchandise. 
 
 "They're fastened together like fish on a trotline!" he exclaimed 
 with disgust to Speed, who looked down, too, but evidently did 
 not share his horror. 
 
 "They're not unhappy," Speed pointed out. "Listen: they're 
 singing. No, they're happy enough, you may be sure." 
 
 Abraham looked at the chained Negro people, listened to their 
 plaintive voices, and he could not believe it was right, nor that a 
 sight such as this belonged in a free America particularly. He was 
 in an unhappy mood all the rest of the day, and Speed could 
 scarcely jog him out of it with his talk of the girl with whom he 
 had finally fallen deeply in love. 
 
 This interesting topic occupied most of the long journey and 
 continued when the pair were again in Springfield. 
 
 "I'm sure this is the real thing," Speed insisted — and sighed. 
 "Yet how can anyone be sure? What if I made a mistake and only 
 found out when it was too late?" 
 
 i8 7 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "You know as well as I do that you have finally located the one 
 you love!" chided Lincoln, laughing a little at his friend. "After 
 meeting your charming Miss Fanny Henning, with those wonder- 
 ful black eyes and that devastating curly hair, I don't wonder that 
 you feel youVe found the right one at last! Why punish yourself 
 by questioning too much and trying to analyze your feelings? Tell 
 her you love her and want to make her your wife. I'll wager she 
 feels the same way about you." 
 
 "You make it sound mighty simple," sighed Speed. "Just give 
 me time, Lincoln, just give me time. When I go back home, I shall 
 know; it will be one way or the other. That was why I wanted to 
 get away — so I should see it all the clearer. And what about you?" 
 
 "Well, Speed," replied Abraham sadly, "I'm afraid I still feel 
 the way I did about Molly Todd. I'd marry her in a minute if she 
 were anyone but a Todd and an aristocrat whose family looks down 
 on me as if I were a toad crawling in the dust. She would not be 
 happy and neither would I. But I'm afraid — well, I just can't let 
 myself think too much, or I'd fly off to the Edwards' stronghold 
 and make another great blithering fool of myself. If only I were 
 certain that she is not brooding, is not unhappy. From all I hear, 
 however, she is going to parties again and flirting with certain 
 eligible gentlemen whose* throats I should like to cut! " 
 
 There were plenty of "kind friends" to tell Abraham that Mary 
 Todd was going about with Edwin Webb and Stephen Douglas 
 and certain others, openly coquetting with them. Abraham was 
 thankful she had not gone into a decline over being jilted. As for 
 himself, it was astonishing how the human spirit could bounce 
 back from seemingly almost insuperable blows. 
 
 188 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 "W 
 
 must do something about this dreadful situation," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Simeon Francis over her tea. "Those two cannot go on like 
 this, nor, I confess, can I!" 
 
 "What do you suggest, my dear?" asked Mrs. Lawrason Lever- 
 ing quizzically. "You know well enough how strong-minded Mary 
 Todd is — and Lincoln is no better when he has his mind set on 
 what he fancies is the wise course to pursue. You cannot make 
 people like those two do something which they feel is not the right 
 thing!" 
 
 "But why is it not right for them to be together again — to marry 
 as they both must wish? Elizabeth Edwards is such a snob — and 
 I pray that you do not run immediately and tell her I said so! 
 Class distinction is all very well, but this is America and it is cer- 
 tainly a poor show of democracy to snub and ostracize an eminently 
 good young man with an excellent future, just because his people 
 lived in a log cabin and never amounted to a hill of beans!" 
 
 "I thought Molly was growing serious about Mr. Webb. He 
 certainly is paying ardent court." 
 
 "Oh, how could she — he is a widower with two young chil- 
 dren!" 
 
 "Well, just what do you propose to do, my dear?" put in gentle 
 Mrs. Jayne, sipping her tea thoughtfully and eying Mrs. Francis 
 closely. 
 
 "I propose to use guile and get Molly and Abraham together 
 in the same room and let propinquity do the rest!" Mrs. Francis 
 
 189 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 laughed confidently, setting her delicate china cup down on the 
 tea table. "Now listen, this is what I want to do, and you must help 
 me. . . . 
 
 Julia Jayne, one of Mary Todd's best friends, paid her usual 
 afternoon call at the Edwards' mansion and immediately went up- 
 stairs to Mary's room, so they could talk. 
 
 "Molly," began Julia, eyes sparkling with the joy of conspiracy, 
 "just think! Mrs. Francis is planning an afternoon tea party and it 
 will be ever so fine! All the girls of our set are to be there, and you 
 must not fail us. Do say you can come. She gave me this invitation 
 to deliver to you — I declare, I almost forgot it! " 
 
 She handed over the small, scented missive and Mary quickly 
 opened and read it, her mouth curving into a delighted smile at 
 prospect of a party. She loved parties and went to almost all to 
 which she was invited. Yet she was growing excessively bored 
 with importunate Edwin Webb's attentions — and even of Stephen 
 Douglas with his sense of self-importance. This, however, would 
 be a girls' party. It would be a relief not to have the men about 
 ... all but one man, and he was never at the parties which she 
 attended now. She sighed, fingering Mrs. Francis' note. 
 
 "Well, Molly, what do you say?" urged Julia, watching her 
 friend's changing expression and wishing she knew what Mary 
 was thinking. 
 
 "I will go, of course," answered Mary, brightening. "Since it 
 is only the girls, I shall not need an escort and that will be a relief! 
 No, don't laugh, it really will. Now, what shall I wear? What 
 are you wearing, Julie, your sprigged muslin? Perhaps I shall have 
 to make myself a dress; I simply have nothing that is new enough. 
 I have that length of delaine which would be just the thing, if only 
 I have the time. Next Tuesday? Oh, surely, if I work fast! " 
 
 And the two were off on a delightful talk of clothes, while Mary 
 brought out the dress material and hoped there was enough of it. 
 
 Meanwhile, Simeon Francis, newspaper editor, sent a note to 
 Abraham Lincoln in his law office, where business was slow and 
 
 190 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Logan out of town. Lincoln was sitting slumped in a chair, his 
 feet propped on the window sill, so that only his shoe soles were 
 visible from the street below. They were proof enough that Lawyer 
 Lincoln was in his office, without the bother of climbing the stairs 
 to find out. 
 Francis' messenger delivered the note, which read: 
 
 My dear Lincoln, 
 
 I have several problems to discuss with you which require privacy, and 
 would be highly favored if you could find the time to come to my 
 home on Tuesday next, about 3 o'clock, to talk them over, 
 
 and oblige, 
 
 your humble servant, 
 
 Simeon Francis 
 
 "Here, boy, take this reply back to Mr. Francis," Lincoln said 
 to the urchin, who still waited, the bare toes of one foot curled 
 over the arch of the other. 
 
 'Til be there," Abraham had written, and signed it A. Lincoln. 
 
 "What if they don't come, after all?" worried Mrs. Francis. 
 "What if Lincoln is called away on a case, or what if Mary gets 
 one of those blinding headaches and cannot come either? And 
 maybe, just maybe, they'll be furious and won't make up! Oh, 
 dear, why do young people have to be so difficult?" 
 
 "There now, don't worry so, my dear," soothed her husband, 
 patting her shoulder. "They'll come, and they'll thank you after- 
 ward, you see if they don't! " 
 
 Lincoln arrived promptly at three. 
 
 "Will you please have a chair in the sitting room, Mr. Lincoln?" 
 urged Mrs. Francis, in a high state of nerves and fluttering about 
 in a manner quite unlike her usual calm habit. "Mr. Francis was 
 detained at the office and will be in very soon." 
 
 "Surely, ma'am," said Lincoln agreeably. "I can catch up on 
 the news in the latest Sangamo Journal'" 
 
 Mrs. Francis, watching anxiously from the front window, 
 thought Mary Todd would never, never come. 
 
 Then, suddenly, she was there at the door, and Mrs. Francis 
 
 191 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 hastily opened it and welcomed her effusively. 
 
 "How very nice to see you, Molly! Come, take off your bon- 
 net and gloves — it is so warm, isn't it? Here is a fan — oh, you have 
 brought your own. What a charming piece of carving in the ivory. 
 I declare, it is quite the loveliest thing I have ever seen!" 
 
 Mary was startled at the manner in which Mrs. Francis fluttered 
 and seemed ill at ease. She was also surprised at the quiet of the 
 house. She was a bit late for the tea — following Elizabeth Ed- 
 wards' mandate that a lady is always a little late — and expected 
 all the girls to be assembled before her. But there was no delicious 
 gabble of female voices, no rattle of teacups, in fact no evidence of 
 a party at all. 
 
 "Do I have the wrong day?" she asked, puzzled. 
 
 "No, no, of course you haven't!" cried Mrs. Francis. "Come 
 in here, do, and the rest will be along soon." 
 
 Before she could do anything about it, Mary Todd found her- 
 self in the small sitting room, facing the tall figure of Abraham 
 Lincoln, who had dropped his newspaper and sprung to his feet 
 when he saw her enter. 
 
 There was one paralyzed moment in which each stared at the 
 other. 
 
 Then, with a glad cry, Mary flung herself impulsively into the 
 long arms, which closed hungrily about her. 
 
 When Mrs. Francis, hearing nothing, cautiously opened the door 
 a crack, sometime later, she discovered the strong-minded Mr. 
 Lincoln seated on the sofa with the strong-minded Miss Todd — 
 and there was the most blissful expression on both their faces. 
 
 Mrs. Francis smiled in utmost relief and pushed open the door. 
 
 "Is it all settled?" she asked happily. "Are you two going to be 
 sensible now and be friends again?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I reckon we are," Lincoln answered placidly. 
 
 Mary sat up straighter and smoothed her rumpled curls, though 
 she was quite unflurried at being caught in such an undignified 
 position. 
 
 "We were such fools," she said forthrightly. "I'm glad you made 
 us come to our senses, dear Mrs. Francis. But I don't know what we 
 
 192 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 shall do from now on. I cannot invite Mr. Lincoln to my sister's 
 house. She wouldn't have it, arid would likely make a scene and 
 so should I, and there we would be, in a sad fix all over again. Oh 
 dear, why does life have to be so hard?" 
 
 She felt tears coming to her eyes and Abraham, discovering them, 
 reached up with his handkerchief and fondly wiped them away. 
 
 "Now don't you worry about that," said Mrs. Francis deter- 
 minedly. "I'm not one to kowtow to Elizabeth Edwards. If you 
 can find a way to get out without arousing suspicion, and if Abra- 
 ham will come over here to our house, you may see each other 
 in perfect safety and propriety, and no will be the wiser." 
 
 "Now that is what I call having a friend in need! " Lincoln smiled 
 delightedly. "Mrs. Francis, I vote you a special medal of honor 
 for being so kind!" He paused before adding solemnly, "Ma'am, 
 you are provoking the wrath of the Edwards and Todd clans, than 
 which nothing else has more fury." 
 
 He stood up, straightening his tie, then added, "But at this 
 moment I can't think of anything I would rather provoke — all save 
 the wrath of the particular Todd who stands before us! Bless you, 
 ma'am!" 
 
 It was exciting, meeting in secret. Perhaps the very delight of 
 secrecy and of outwitting Elizabeth and Ninian Edwards made 
 the meetings all the more fun. Other friends conspired to provide 
 meeting places also, so that Elizabeth should not wonder why her 
 sister was visiting too frequently in one place. 
 
 But Elizabeth Edwards was only pleased that Mary was going 
 out more often and not staying in her room so much. The girl 
 was finally well over her infatuation for that low Lincoln creature, 
 she concluded, and it would only be a matter of time before she 
 decided on one of the excellent young men living in Springfield to 
 become her husband. . . . He would be a man with money and 
 position, of course. There were several of these, including Mr. 
 Douglas and Mr. Webb. 
 
 Elizabeth flicked a spot of dust from the carving on the big, 
 gold-framed mirror in the best parlor and went to reprimand the 
 little servant girl for being slovenly in her work. 
 
 193 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 I 
 
 ames shields was angry. His mounting fury threatened to 
 cause him to do something rash, and the more he thought about 
 the insult he had suffered, the more he boiled. He would have satis- 
 faction — when he discovered the true villain, the culprit, the evil- 
 doer who had so grossly dishonored his name! It was more than 
 flesh and blood could bear, especially the Irish flesh and blood of 
 the furious James Shields. 
 
 It all went back to the financial panic, which really was no one 
 person's fault, and certainly not the fault of the state auditor, James 
 Shields. There was too little hard money circulating; bank notes 
 were being used instead, but so far had the value of the dollar 
 dropped that it was now worth only about forty-four cents. 
 
 James Shields, hot-tempered, black-haired, snapping-eyed Irish- 
 man that he was, as auditor set off the powder keg of public in- 
 dignation when he announced that, since a dollar was actually 
 worth only forty-four cents in buying power, in paying their taxes, 
 men should consider it as just that amount and pay their taxes in 
 silver — silver, mind you! Paper would not do. 
 
 The roar which went up was loud enough to curl the hair of 
 the irritable Celt, but this was nothing to what happened when 
 the Whigs, delighted to catch a Democrat in such an unpopular 
 position, began capitalizing on the situation. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, with his facility of pen and wit, and an expert 
 at writing anonymous letters to the press, composed an epistle 
 purportedly from the "Lost Townships," located at some indeter- 
 
 194 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 minate point in Illinois. It was humorously and satirically written 
 and was signed by someone said to be a farm widow named Re- 
 becca. 
 
 On September 2, 1842, subscribers to the Sangamo Journal, 
 which included most of the population of Springfield and San- 
 gamon County, read and laughed in delight over "Aunt 'Becca's" 
 piece. 
 
 "Whoever wrote it sure knows what we're up against with 
 Shields and his hard money terms!" farmers exclaimed. 
 
 "Listen here at what she says — if it's really a she, which I doubt 
 — hollerin' like a wagonload of bullfrogs about what she and her 
 friend Jeff's had to endure: 
 
 " 'I've been tugging ever since harvest getting out wheat and 
 hauling it to the river' (that's Jeff talkin') 'to raise State Bank paper 
 enough to pay my tax this year, and a little school debt I owe; and 
 now just as I've got it, I open this infernal Extra Register . . . and 
 find a set of fellows calling themselves officers of State have for- 
 bidden the tax collectors and school commissioners to receive State 
 paper at all; and so here it is, dead on my hands. I don't now believe 
 all the plunder I've got will fetch ready cash enough to pay my 
 taxes and that school debt.' " 
 
 "That's my idea entirely," others agreed, reading on. "But now 
 listen to this — this sure lays into that Shields; even accuses him of 
 bein' a Whig, and that's the highest insult you can hurl at any 
 Democrat!" 
 
 " 'I tell you . . . there's no mistake about his bein a Whig — 
 why his very looks shows it — everything about him shows it — 
 if I was deaf and blind I could tell him by the smell. I seed him 
 when I was in Springfield last winter. They had a sort of gatherin 
 there one night among the grandees, they called a fair. All the 
 gals about town was there, and all the handsome widows, and 
 married women, finickin about, trying to look like gals, tied as 
 tight in the middle and puffed out at both ends like bundles of 
 fodder that hadn't been stacked yet, but wanted stackin pretty 
 bad. And then they had tables all around the house kivered over 
 with baby caps and pincushions and ten thousand little knicknacks, 
 
 195 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 tryin to sell 'em to the fellows that were bowin and scrapin, and 
 kungeerin about 'em. 
 
 " 'They wouldn't let no Democrats in, for fear they'd disgust 
 the ladies, or scare the little gals, or dirty the floor. I looked in 
 at the window, and there was this same fellow Shields floatin about 
 on the air, without heft or earthly substance, just like a lock of 
 cat-fur where cats had been fightin. 
 
 "He was paying his money to this one and that one, and tother 
 one, and sufferin great loss because it wasn't silver instead of State 
 paper; and the sweet distress he seemed to be in, — his very features, 
 in the ecstatic agony of his soul, spoke audibly and distinctly — 
 'Dear girls, it is distressing, but I cannot marry you all. Too well 
 I know how much you suffer; but do, do remember, it is not my 
 fault that I am so handsome and so interesting.' " 
 
 The men laughed hard at this sally, then sobered. 
 
 "Yes, he's sure right, and if I know that Shields from reputation, 
 he ain't goin' to take all them slurs layin' down. You wait. There'll 
 be more'n cat fur flyin'. There's ructions comin' up soon, or I 
 miss my guess, like the feller said who dropped a powder charge 
 down the well." 
 
 Meanwhile, several days after this entertaining effusion appeared 
 in the public press, a second letter came out which was even more 
 insulting. In this the stout Rebecca proposed marriage to the esti- 
 mable Mr. Shields, who had, immediately after publication of the 
 first letter, loudly voiced his dislike for the affair. Rebecca then 
 challenged him to a duel. In the paper, a few days later, there ap- 
 peared a poem which was signed "Cathleen," in which the writer 
 caused Mr. Shields to marry the rural Rebecca. 
 
 With the offending sheet of the Sangamo Journal clutched in 
 his fingers, James Shields stalked down to the newspaper office 
 and confronted the editor, Simeon Francis. 
 
 Mr. Francis put down his cigar and sat up in his chair as the 
 fire-breathing Shields burst into the office. Around him was an 
 aura of insulted dignity and righteous fury. 
 
 "If you please, Mr. Francis (only he pronounced it Frauncis) 
 
 196 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 you will be telling me who is the blackguard who has dared to 
 write this calumny about me!" 
 
 "Mr. Shields! Do sit down. Now talk calmly, and we'll straighten 
 this out — " 
 
 "I will not sit down and we will straighten it out now, at once, 
 and standing up, or I shall demand satisfaction from you, instead 
 of from the bounder who wrote this piece of infamy! Look at it. 
 Read it! But no, you have already looked at it and have read it, 
 all three pieces of insult, and no doubt laughed and have had the 
 nerve, the insulting audacity, to print it in your worthless rag! " 
 
 James Shields threw the paper on Francis' desk and ran his 
 fingers through his black hair, which stood straight up in wild 
 tufts in his agitation. He paced. 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Shields—" 
 
 "Who wrote it? That is all I ask. The name of the blackguard! 
 The first screed was bad, but this one is worse, more vilely insult- 
 ing, and as for this so-called poem — I will know! " 
 
 Simeon Francis knew when he was cornered. A newspaper editor 
 has to face such a situation every once in a while and must learn 
 to accept it with dignity and aplomb, even when the ax is falling. 
 
 "Well, sir, I regret to use his name because he is a very worthy 
 gentleman and a constituent of yours — " 
 
 "Even if he were my own brother, which I thank God he never 
 will be, I would want his name that I may challenge him for satis- 
 faction. Out with it!" 
 
 "Abraham Lincoln is the author of the Rebecca letter which 
 appeared September 2 — " 
 
 "Lincoln!" Shields interrupted savagely. "I might have known! 
 He's a sly one with the pen and skilled in the use of words . . . 
 words to run a man through and through, and then he has not the 
 courage to sign his name like a man. Lincoln! I'll cut his heart 
 out!" Shields was off, coattails flying. 
 
 And Simeon Francis, who knew that Lincoln had written only 
 one of the letters, mopped his brow and sank back into his chair. 
 
 Lincoln had already departed for the circuit court sessions at 
 Tremont, about sixty-five miles north of Springfield, near Pekin. 
 
 197 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 This, however, was no deterrent to the raving Mr. Shields. He 
 hurried to the home of his friend, General John D. Whiteside. 
 
 "You must be my second, general!" Shields gasped. "I'm going 
 after that scurrilous Lincoln and challenge him to a duel! " 
 
 Grasping the puzzled general's arm, he urged him to come at 
 once, but was prevailed upon to wait until that gentleman should 
 don his coat, arrange his stock, put on his hat and explain to his 
 startled family where he was going, before the two set out at a gal- 
 lop, heading toward Tremont. 
 
 Simeon Francis came to the door of his newspaper building in 
 time to see Shields and Whiteside tear off in a cloud of dust. 
 Terribly worried, he was about to re-enter his office when Dr. 
 Elias Merryman and William Butler chanced to walk by. Both 
 were good friends of Lincoln, who lived at the home of the latter, 
 besides. 
 
 "Why, what's the trouble, Francis?" they asked almost in 
 unison, seeing the editor's perturbed face. 
 
 "Oh, trouble enough and it's mainly my fault. No telling what 
 those fools will do! Lincoln wrote that crazy piece about Shields — 
 you read it, I'm sure; everybody did — and now the fellow is 
 wild to cut out Lincoln's heart, he says. He's going to challenge him 
 to a duel, of all things! " 
 
 "A duel! But that's forbidden by Illinois statute!" 
 
 "I know it is, but they'll find a way out of it, and with the 
 state of mind Shields is in, I doubt if the law would bother him 
 much, for all that he's a member of the Illinois governing body. 
 He's liable to lose his post if he goes through with this. If there 
 were only some way of warning Lincoln!" 
 
 "There is!" exclaimed William Butler with determination. 
 "Come on, Merryman, get your horse. We'll send word to our 
 families and be off. I know a short cut and, if we ride all night, we 
 can get to Tremont first!" 
 
 The night was warm and humid, alive with the grand chorus 
 of the last of summer's insects, zinging and jingling in the dusty 
 weeds and in the tall prairie grass that waved against the stars. 
 The galloping horses were finally slowed to a walk. At a halfway 
 point, they were exchanged for fresh mounts. Shortly afterward, 
 
 198 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Butler and Merryman passed two riders in the darkness. They were 
 Shields and Whiteside, who evidently did not recognize the men 
 who slipped by them in the summer night. 
 
 By dawn, Butler and Merryman had reached Tremont. They 
 hunted up Lincoln's room at the ramshackle inn and pounded on 
 the door until he woke. 
 
 "Bill and Elias!" Lincoln thrust out one hand to greet them and 
 smoothed back his rumpled hair with the other. 
 
 "Come in, come in. You're mighty early, but take me as I am. 
 Why, what's wrong, boys?" he added, suddenly uneasy. 
 
 "He's coming to get you — Shields!" cried Butler, sinking onto 
 a chair. "He's taken exception to what you wrote, and he's got his 
 second, and they're heading up here to challenge you to a duel. 
 A duel — as if this were medieval times and a duel was the only way 
 in which civilized men could settle their differences! " 
 
 "You really ought to watch what you write sometimes, Lincoln," 
 reproved Dr. Merryman wearily. "It's a wonder this has not 
 happened before. I looked for something like it when you were 
 writing those anonymous 'Sampson's Ghost' letters for the paper. 
 In a way, I don't blame poor Shields. You really were mighty in- 
 sulting, especially that poem which came out today, not to mention 
 the second of the letters. You really don't know the power of your 
 pen!" 
 
 Lincoln stopped where he was, pulling on his pants. 
 
 "I only wrote one," he said, startled. "You say there was one in 
 today?" 
 
 "And yesterday, too. A humdinger. It suggests that 'Aunt Becca' 
 might challenge Shields to a duel and asks if he'd like to put on 
 petticoats or have her dress in breeches, either one serving to make 
 them equal! Today's was a poem announcing the glad tidings of 
 a marriage between said 'Aunt Becca' and Mr. Shields. I hear he's 
 pretty wrought up, and frankly I don't blame him!" 
 
 "Boys," said Lincoln soberly, "I swear I didn't write more than 
 one, and it came out on September second." 
 
 "Whoever wrote the others, then?" 
 
 Lincoln sank back on his bed and looked dismally into space. 
 
 199 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE A1E 
 
 A horrid thought had just entered his mind. 
 
 "I should have thought Molly'd have had better sense, but 
 she's so impetuous and never thinks — " 
 
 "Molly? You don't mean to tell me that Miss Todd wrote — 
 that?" 
 
 Lincoln groaned and put his head in his hands. 
 
 "She and her friend, Julia Jayne, were laughing about the first 
 effusion I was fool enough to write and they said it ought to be a 
 series. I said one was enough, but I knew they were whispering 
 and laughing about something Mary was composing . . . Oh, 
 golly! And now you say Shields — " 
 
 "He's on his way here with blood in his eye and a second to 
 make the challenge good and proper, to the death!" 
 
 There was an imperative rap on the door. Butler, a trifle pale, 
 opened it a crack. General John Whiteside stood stiffly outside. In 
 his hand was a letter. 
 
 "Please to present this letter to Mr. Lincoln, sir," he said for- 
 mally, after a brief bow, though Whiteside and Butler were old 
 friends. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," returned Butler, equally as stiffly. "I shall 
 do so at once." He closed the door and Whiteside walked away. 
 He was thankful he hadn't had to face Lincoln. This was all a 
 bad business. He felt extraordinarily unhappy about it. 
 
 Wordless, Bill Butler handed the note to Lincoln, who opened 
 it and read in silence: 
 
 . . . While abstaining from giving provocation, I have become the 
 object of slander, vituperation and personal abuse . . . 
 
 I will take the liberty of requiring a full, positive and absolute re- 
 traction of all offensive allusions used by you in these communications, 
 in relation to my private character and standing as a man, as an apology 
 for the insults conveyed in them. 
 
 This may prevent consequences which no one will regret more than 
 myself. 
 
 Your Ob't serv't, 
 James Shields. 
 
 2 00 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "I didn't intend slander, and I'm not going to apologize for 
 something I didn't calculate I was doing, and anyway, I didn't 
 write all he alludes to!" snapped Lincoln. "Here, take this letter 
 back to the dutiful Mr. Whiteside and convey my message that 
 I will not retract anything I wrote!" 
 
 "Oh, now Lincoln, you know what will happen — " begged 
 Bill Butler. 
 
 "All right, then, let it happen," said Lincoln curtly, finishing 
 his dressing and giving his hair a cursory combing before the 
 speckled mirror. 
 
 Back came James Shields' stiff letter, requiring that Lincoln 
 select the weapons. 
 
 "Well, that's that," he said sadly. "I reckon it's up to me to choose 
 what we shall kill each other with. I might suggest cowdung at 
 five paces, but I suppose my worthy opponent wants something 
 a little more formal and dangerous. Well, make it cavalry broad- 
 swords. They're the biggest weapons I can think of, off hand. 
 And — now let me think. A plank ten feet long and nine to twelve 
 inches wide must be laid on the ground as a boundary over which 
 neither of us shall step." 
 
 Lincoln paused, pondering. "I reckon we'll have to get out of 
 Illinois for this little picnic, since it is a highly illegal form of 
 entertainment, I've been told. So why not make it that island down 
 below Alton, the one they call Bloody Island because other fools 
 have dueled there before us?" 
 
 "When?" asked Butler. His face was drawn with weariness 
 and despair at this unutterably foolhardy project. He thought 
 Lincoln was taking it all too lightly. 
 
 "Well, I'll be occupied here for a while. Say, September 22, 
 about five in the afternoon." 
 
 Before Butler and Merryman finally went back to Springfield, 
 a day or so later, a thought occurred to Butler. 
 
 "You know, Lincoln, it's just come to me — if you figure on 
 fighting across a plank with weapons as long as cavalry broad- 
 swords, and with that extraordinarily long reach of yours — why, 
 
 201 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Shields won't have the ghost of a chance to even touch you, short 
 as he is!" 
 
 "Yes, I figured on that," said Lincoln drily, grinning a crooked 
 grin. "That way I can disarm the fellow, and he won't accomplish 
 what he obviously wishes — to run me through and through. I 
 hate cruelty, especially when it's to myself! " 
 
 When the Tremont session was over, Abraham returned dis- 
 consolately to Springfield and to his fate at the hand of the in- 
 sulted auditor. The whole thing was a sorry mess, and he wished 
 he hadn't become involved in it. He wished he'd had the sense 
 to watch how he wrote. Ever since he'd penned the Chronicles 
 of Reuben, back in Indiana, and had infuriated the Grigsby clan, 
 who had fought him because of it, he had been getting into trouble 
 with his writing. He ought to learn better some day. Better still, 
 he ought to quit writing! 
 
 There was nothing to do now but go through with it. Shields 
 was still unappeased and breathing fire; he was evidently marking 
 time with unabated wrath until the fatal day arrived. 
 
 Lincoln had only a brief moment with Mary before setting off 
 with his friends, by horse and buggy, to Alton. 
 
 "Oh my poor Mr. Lincoln!" Mary wept, clutching his strong 
 hands in her small white ones. "It's all my fault!" 
 
 "Don't worry, sweetheart," he said gently. "I'll be back!" Not 
 trusting himself to say more or to stay longer, and with a quick 
 farewell kiss, he was off. 
 
 "He is my knight, my champion going to battle for my honor," 
 Mary sighed to Mrs. Francis and Julia Jayne, half in grief, half in 
 pride and romantic delight. 
 
 "It's like a novel, isn't it?" mused Julia dreamily. 
 
 "It is nothing of the sort!" snapped Mrs. Francis, out of patience 
 with both of them. "You are a pair of silly, ridiculous, sentimental 
 geese! I know you wrote those two dreadful pieces; they were 
 the ones that really set off this whole regrettable affair. You ought 
 to be ashamed! 
 
 202 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "And of course," went on Mrs. Francis furiously, "you know 
 that Mr. Shields and General Whiteside may be arrested and lose 
 their state jobs because of this, and Mr. Lincoln and his friends 
 may very likely be arrested, too, and thoroughly disgraced. And 
 your precious Mr. Lincoln may be killed, and all because of a pair 
 of silly girls who thought they were smart!" 
 
 Julia and Mary were suddenly sobered. Each went home in 
 thoughtful silence. 
 
 The duel was the subject of conversation in almost every home 
 in Springfield that night. People were shocked, scandalized, amused, 
 scornful, or otherwise concerned over two men who were very 
 definite personalities, either of whom would be sadly missed should 
 he fall victim to the other's swordsmanship. 
 
 "It's just like that Mr. Lincoln to become involved in a brawl 
 like this," Elizabeth Edwards sneered at dinner. Her fine eyes 
 glinted scorn in the candlelight. "A common, low — " 
 
 "Well, now," put in Ninian Edwards humorously, though with 
 a trace of embarrassment. "There is a rather curious angle to it, 
 you know, my dear." He paused. Mary and Elizabeth looked at 
 him. Each was thinking quite different thoughts. 
 
 "I believe," went on Ninian Edwards, "that only a gentleman 
 may be challenged to a duel, or even be permitted to fight one." 
 
 Again he paused, and the women listened. 
 
 "Our own opinion of that Lincoln fellow may be quite un- 
 altered as to whether or not he is fit to have the title of gentleman, 
 but evidently the worthy Mr. Shields and the honorable General 
 Whiteside have no doubts in the matter. Puts one rather on a spot, 
 you know. A man can scarcely be a gentleman and still be of 
 such low degree that he cannot be admitted into the best homes!" 
 
 "That's what I have always said — " Mary broke in eagerly. 
 
 "Hush, Mary!" ordered Elizabeth sternly. "You know nothing 
 about it. I still say that Mr. Lincoln is a common, low plebian who 
 is not fit to enter the home of an aristocrat. I should never have 
 permitted him to call on Mary, never!" 
 
 203 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Ninian smiled and said nothing more. Mary turned her eyes to 
 her plate, picked at her food, then, excusing herself, fled to her 
 room. 
 
 "You don't suppose that girl is still fancying herself in love 
 with that awful man, do you, Mr. Edwards?" 
 
 "How should I know what goes on in the head of a Todd 
 female?" countered Ninian Edwards noncommittally. "I wouldn't 
 be surprised at anything they do!" 
 
 On September 22, 1842, Lincoln, with his friends, Dr. Mer- 
 ryman and Dr. Henry, William Butler and Albert Bledsoe, arrived 
 at Bloody Island and tied their boat to a snag. Lincoln at once set 
 about practicing with the huge sword which he had acquired in 
 Jacksonville. After a few minutes of awkward thrusting and parry- 
 ing in the air, the pursuit seemed suddenly ridiculous. He decided 
 to put the big blade to better use and industriously cleared away the 
 weeds and underbrush to permit a clearer field of battle. As Shields, 
 Whiteside and a doctor rov/ed across the Mississippi to the island, 
 they could see the tall figure swinging the broadsword like a scythe, 
 while the horseweeds, smartweeds, willow sprouts and cocklebur 
 plants flew in all directions. Shields and Whiteside simply looked 
 at each other and said nothing. In silence, the three landed. 
 
 "I reckon we'll have to change the rules a bit about a plank," 
 said Lincoln, when the seconds got together to set the stage for 
 the duel. The mosquitoes annoyed them. "I clean forgot to bring 
 one along. I reckon a long stick of driftwood will do as well. We'll 
 set it up on two forked sticks, like this, and it'll do as a boundary 
 just as well as a plank. Well, I reckon we're ready, more's the pity, 
 as the King of France said when they were about to behead him!" 
 
 The two opponents sat down on driftwood logs at a distance 
 from each other while the seconds desperately continued trying 
 to conciliate them and call off the fight. Lincoln was willing 
 enough to do this, if he could do so in honor, but Shields was 
 stubborn. Only blood would satisfy him, it seemed. Even his 
 friends had all but lost complete patience with his bullheadedness. 
 
 204 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Arguments got nowhere. The September heat grew greater as 
 the afternoon moved on toward the appointed hour of five. A 
 vast glitter rose from the flowing waters of the Mississippi. Lincoln 
 wished he was on it, going down to New Orleans . . . anyplace 
 but here on this baking sand bar, waiting to find out if he was going 
 to have to fight with a great sword. Shields was said to be an ex- 
 pert swordsman, but Lincoln had never fought with anything more 
 deadly than his fists. 
 
 He moved restlessly over to a shadier log under the willows. 
 He examined the sword blade and picked off some bits of green 
 adhering from his weed-cutting operations. He tested the blade 
 with his thumb, then stood up, reached as high as he could with 
 the weapon and clipped off a willow twig which dropped lightly 
 at his feet. General Whiteside, observing this, nudged Shields. 
 
 '"Did you see that, Shields? You haven't a chance with that 
 fellow — look at his reach! He cut off a twig at least twelve feet 
 above the ground — I tell you, this is murder!" 
 
 A St. Louis-bound steamboat navigated slowly past, dodging 
 sand bars bared in the low water. The people on board waved to 
 the men on the island. Lincoln was the only one who waved 
 back. He emphasized the gesture with the great sword, which 
 flashed in the sunshine. Suddenly remembering what it was and 
 what he was here for, he stopped waving and sank back on his log 
 again, sighing. Just then, his eyes fell casually on something red 
 lying among the weeds. He got up to investigate. 
 
 "Good heavens, Henry," cried a woman on the steamboat, 
 "did you see what that man had in his hand? A sword!" 
 
 "Oh, surely not, Maria. Must have been a fisherman and his 
 pole." 
 
 "It was not! I think I know a fishing pole when I see one, 
 and that man had a sword. A great long one. And come to think 
 of it, there was another man over there with a sword, too. What 
 on earth do you think they were going to do?" 
 
 "Fight a duel, most likely, Maria. That's what swords are for. 
 Ah, me, I well remember the day . . ." 
 
 205 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "All right, gentlemen," Dr Merryman finally said in despair. 
 "Take your places and — " 
 
 A halloo from the water announced another skiff which was 
 hastily being rowed out from shore to the island. Aboard was 
 John J. Hardin, a lawyer, Mary Todd's cousin. Having learned 
 of the folly about to take place, he had come in all haste to Alton 
 and down to Bloody Island to avert disaster. 
 
 His refreshing presence spiced with strong epithets sizzling 
 with scorn and volatile argument, finally convinced the principals 
 of their folly. Lincoln's formal apology was read to the placated 
 Shields. He had, in fact, been about to relent when Hardin's ex- 
 plosive presence crystallized his intent. 
 
 Abraham squashed a viciously-biting horsefly on his neck and 
 wiped off the blood. 
 
 "Reckon that's the only blood that'll be shed on this field of 
 battle, thank fortune," he remarked to no one in particular. Then 
 a wicked light came into his eyes as he remembered the bit of an 
 old red shirt which he had discovered lying in the weeds. 
 
 Shields and his party made ready to go back in one boat, Lincoln 
 and his relieved friends in another. But Shields was puzzled by 
 what the irrepressible Lincoln was up to. He was tenderly wrap- 
 ping the old red shirt around a chunk of driftwood and placing 
 it in his boat. And then, during the entire journey back to shore — 
 a shore lined with people awaiting the outcome of the duel and 
 straining their eyes against the late sunlight — he crouched over 
 and solicitously fanned the red-clad log. 
 
 "Look!" cried someone on shore. "One of them's been almost 
 killed — maybe he's dead! He's a mass of blood, anyway, just a- 
 layin' in the bottom of the boat! " 
 
 James Shields felt himself beginning to boil again as Lincoln, 
 grinning widely, heard the exclamations of horror turn to roars 
 of relieved laughter. The bystanders had discovered the joke. 
 The duel had turned into a farce and everyone, except perhaps 
 the scarlet-faced Mr. Shields, was delighted. Mrs. Edwards, how- 
 ever, would have said that it was what you could expect from a 
 
 206 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 boor like Lincoln. 
 
 "You'll have him challenging you to another duel before you 
 even get back from this one," reproved Dr. Merryman, throwing 
 log and red shirt into the river. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mary Todd and Julia Jayne were having a terrible 
 time of it. Mrs. Francis' scalding words had brought home to them 
 the true meaning of what they had done and what was now about 
 to take place. Those several days, Julia spent a good deal of time 
 with Mary in the latter's bedroom. 
 
 "Oh, what on earth have we done!" Mary had cried when they 
 were alone. Julia sank to the floor and burst into a flood of tears. 
 She buried her face in Mary's voluminous muslin skirts. 
 
 "It's our fault," wept Julia. "If Mr. Lincoln is killed, we'll be 
 the same as murderers! Murderers! How I wish we had never 
 written those shameful pieces! Mr. Francis would never, never 
 have told Mr. Shields we wrote them, and neither would Mr. 
 Lincoln. He would give his life for our honor. Oh, oh, oh!" Julia 
 sobbed. 
 
 "Hush, Julie," hissed Mary fiercely, absently running her fingers 
 through her friend's curls. "There's nothing to do about it now 
 except pray that they don't have the fight. Maybe something will 
 come up to stop them. My cousin, Mr. Hardin, is on his way 
 there to see what he can do. But oh, a duel . . . oh, Julia, you 
 are right, we are the same as murderers! And even though Mr. 
 Lincoln isn't a swordsman, he is so tall and so strong, he could 
 kill Mr. Shields with one blow of that dreadful weapon!" 
 
 The horrid thought which this brought to their minds was 
 sickening and terrifying, and they both wept together once more. 
 
 And so at last Abraham Lincoln came home to Springfield after 
 the barely averted duel. Julia Jayne contrived to notify Mary 
 Todd of the event. Just by chance, then, the latter paid a call at 
 the Francis' home. 
 
 As Abraham came striding up the front walk, alive and well, 
 Mary forgot the polite reticence of young Victorian ladies before 
 
 207 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 they were married and flew into his arms. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lincoln, you're safe, you're safe!" she cried, weeping 
 happily against his flowered waistcoat. "I'm so terribly sorry about 
 what I did. It was all my fault! But you — oh — did you — kill Mr. 
 Shields?" she asked suddenly, wide-eyed, as the thought occurred 
 to her that, customarily, when one man who was a party to a duel 
 was seen alive afterward, his opponent usually was quite dead, or 
 at least injured. She remembered certain nerve-shattering episodes 
 involving duels in Kentucky. 
 
 "No, Molly, I didn't kill anything bigger than a horsefly that 
 bit my neck, nor shed anyone's blood but my own in the mosqui- 
 toes that were devouring me alive! It's all over, and let's neither one 
 of us write anything unkind or unsigned again!" 
 
 He picked her up and kissed her, then set her down, lingeringly. 
 They went into the house together. 
 
 "Would you have been so sad if I'd been slaughtered by that 
 furious Irishman? His sword was almost as big as he was, and 
 mighty deadly," Lincoln added, as they reached the haven of the 
 Francis' parlor. It was, with intent, quite empty. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Lincoln, I would," she answered demurely, dimpling, 
 looking down, though her heart was pounding furiously at his 
 nearness. 
 
 "Well, so would I, I reckon. Molly, let's not fool around and 
 get into arguments or endanger our very lives by being apart! I just 
 can't live without you, and I flatter myself you can't live without 
 me, else you'd have married someone richer and handsomer than 
 I am before now. Will you marry me, Molly?" 
 
 Somehow, all the reasons why he should not marry a Todd, 
 all the arguments he had used to convince himself of his infe- 
 riority, his poverty and his hopeless future faded into the unim- 
 portant background in the presence of the girl he loved. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Lincoln," she whispered. His embrace was big and 
 warm and all-engulfing, there in the Francis' parlor. She came 
 out of the embrace pink and mussed and happier than she could 
 ever remember being in all her tempestuous life. 
 
 208 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
 
 I 
 
 t was not until November that Mary Todd finally got up the 
 courage to tell Elizabeth and Ninian Edwards that she was going 
 to marry Abraham Lincoln. She was revolted by the thought of 
 the storm which would surely break around her when her news 
 was out. But she would have to do it. 
 
 "Molly," Abraham had said one day, "we can't go on like this 
 much longer, seeing each other in secret, just putting off the day. 
 We'll have to tell Mrs. Edwards and be done with it." 
 
 "I know, I know," replied Mary, feeling cornered. "I really 
 will." 
 
 "I've written to your father for permission, but have heard 
 nothing from him," went on Lincoln, frowning. "We won't need 
 a big wedding, though I know you'd like it, I reckon. But with 
 the way things are, I don't see how we can. We could just go 
 over to Doctor Dresser's parsonage and have him marry us quietly 
 and with no fanfare. Then let the storm break! " 
 
 "Yes, that would be best, I suppose," sighed Mary. "But I would 
 have to tell Elizabeth beforehand. She would never forgive me if 
 1 should be married secretly like that, and Ninian, besides, is my 
 guardian." 
 
 "Yes, you would have to," he agreed. "And I cannot do it for 
 you!" 
 
 So, on the morning of November 4, 1842, Mary said boldly at 
 breakfast, though her heart was hammering: 
 
 209 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 "Mr. Lincoln and I are going to be married this evening." 
 
 If she had announced the ending of the world, the shock could 
 scarcely have been worse for her kin. 
 
 Elizabeth dropped her egg spoon, and Ninian simply stared 
 across the damask cloth at the flushed, pretty, panicky, determined 
 face of his sister-in-law. So she had done it, after all. He ought to 
 have known you can't cross the will of a Todd and get away with 
 it. 
 
 "I refuse to permit it! " cried Elizabeth, her face red. "I will not 
 let you throw yourself away on a man with no family, no back- 
 ground, no money, no prospects! It would never do!" 
 
 "Yes, it will," said Mary, determining to be calm, "and I shall. 
 We have already bought the license, and Mr. Lincoln has the ring. 
 There are three lovely words engraved inside the band: Love Is 
 Eternal. That means that nobody can stop our marriage, not even 
 you, Elizabeth Todd, nor you, Mr. Edwards! I refuse to let you 
 run or ruin my life. Goodness knows you've tried! " 
 
 "I have not tried to ruin your life, you spiteful minx," screamed 
 Elizabeth, while the little servant girl paused, wide-eyed, in the 
 doorway, aghast at the commotion among the grandees. "All my 
 life I have tried to do the best for you that I could, ever since our 
 mother died, and it devolved on me as the eldest to see that you 
 were educated and brought up as a lady, met the right people 
 and married the right man! I refuse to — " 
 
 "It won't make any difference what you refuse, Elizabeth," cried 
 Mary hotly. "I am going to marry Mr. Lincoln today. At Mr. Dres- 
 ser's house!" 
 
 With that, she got up from the table and, considering her agi- 
 tated state of mind, walked quietly out of the room. 
 
 Elizabeth and Ninian sat back and stared at each other. 
 
 "You might as well give in, Mrs. Edwards," said her husband 
 wryly. "You can't make a Todd do what she doesn't want to do, 
 as I've learned long since. Give her your blessing and don't throw 
 it up to her that she's made a dreadful match. It might be that she 
 could have done much, much worse." 
 
 Elizabeth calmed down somewhat. "We can't let that girl go off 
 
 210 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 to the Episcopalian parsonage and be married, as if we wouldn't 
 give her a proper wedding here. It would cause talk," she cried, 
 thinking fast. 
 
 "She seems determined to be married today, and you would 
 scarcely have time to get a wedding supper ready, and all the deco- 
 rations," Ninian Edwards told his wife. 
 
 "Oh, that girl!" cried Elizabeth petulantly. "I have always had 
 trouble with her headstrongness! She might at least have given me 
 time to do the proper thing by her, plan a really nice spread, order 
 flowers and ices, invite the right people. As social leader of Spring- 
 field, they expect me to do the correct thing. Think what people 
 will say! " 
 
 "You hardly gave her the chance, did you?" reminded Ninian. 
 "I shall go at once and tell Lincoln that all is forgiven and they are 
 to have the wedding here. I had a letter from Robert Todd, saying 
 that Lincoln had written to him, asking Mary's hand in marriage. 
 Your father will abide by my decision, he says, as to whether this 
 man is worthy. It seems, however, that they are determined to 
 marry whether I approve or not! Ah, well." 
 
 But Elizabeth, in a softened mood, was off to confer with Mary, 
 who found her sister surprisingly kind after the blowup and hard 
 words. 
 
 The wedding would still be held on that day. Elizabeth, in a 
 flurry, sent for her other sister, Frances Todd Wallace, who came 
 in a great state of upset. They worked hard, recruited cousins and 
 neighbors to assist, sent invitations here and there, while Mary 
 asked Julia Jayne, Elizabeth Todd and Anna Rodney, three of her 
 very best friends, to be bridesmaids. There was no time for special 
 gowns to be made for the wedding. Mary herself had had no chance 
 to make her wedding gown, but had to wear her best white silk. 
 The others simply wore their nicest winter dresses for the occasion. 
 
 Rain commenced about noon. This further complicated the 
 hasty running about from house to house, to borrow things, send 
 messages and invitations. The streets were thick mud, the rain 
 congealing a little on the trees. 
 
 Lincoln, feeling somewhat in a daze, made the arrangements with 
 
 211 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 the Reverend Mr. Dresser and asked James Matheny to stand up 
 with him that evening at the wedding. 
 
 Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Francis mixed the wedding cake bat- 
 ter; it baked beautifully and did not fall. It had to be frosted before 
 it was quite cold, but nobody minded. Everyone that evening com- 
 mented on how delicate it was, how velvety and up to Elizabeth 
 Edwards' usual standards for wedding cakes. 
 
 Rain was clattering at a slant against the long windows of the 
 Edwards' parlor when the marriage service took place — the service 
 which caused Mary Todd to become Mrs. Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 It was over at last, with no slip-ups. In the November rain, which 
 somehow contrived to have bright sparkles of joy shot through it, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, later that evening, drove to the Globe Tav- 
 ern, where a room had been reserved and where they were to live. 
 
 Elizabeth Edwards sank, worn out, into a chair and wept a little. 
 Ninian Edwards poured himself a stiff drink. And Mr. and Mrs. 
 Simeon Francis, driving home in the rain, drew a gratified sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "Congratulations, Mrs. Francis," said her husband with a smile, 
 pressing her hand. "I think we may safely take credit for a most 
 worthy deed!" 
 
 212 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 
 
 N, 
 
 ineteen years later, on February ii, 1 86 1, another cold 
 winter rain, but without the sparkles and without the joy, slanted 
 miserably upon the gray, wet, muddy lawns and streets of Spring- 
 field. At the Great Western station, a locomotive with a baggage 
 car and one passenger car draped with water-soaked bunting stood 
 waiting. Bobbing umbrellas covered the people who had gathered 
 quietly that morning, on the station platform and in the street. 
 
 At fivQ minutes before eight, a tall man walked hastily through 
 the crowd and mounted the back platform of the passenger car. 
 Removing his tall hat, he stood bareheaded, his hands gripping the 
 cold iron of the wet railing. His face was full of melancholy, his 
 mind suddenly far away, remembering. 
 
 The engine tooted a warning. He lifted his head, then, and spoke 
 a few words in farewell to his friends and neighbors. 
 
 "My friends" said President-Elect Abraham Lincoln, "no one, 
 not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this 
 parting" 
 
 It was a parting from his whole life which had gone before, as if 
 this were dying, and he were entering a new existence. Whether it 
 would be good or ill he could not know. It was a separating from 
 the old way of living, from the old friends, the old times. 
 
 He was leaving not only Springfield and the career he had built 
 there for himself, as a lawyer with Stuart, then Logan, and lately 
 with William Herndon — the career as a circuit court lawyer and a 
 member of the State Legislature in Illinois, and as congressman in 
 
 2I 3 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Washington. He was leaving more than that. 
 
 He was departing from the fine house which he had purchased 
 from Doctor Dresser, the Episcopalian minister who had married 
 him and Molly. It was a home and a way of life, a degree of ele- 
 gance, which he had never known so intimately before. It had been 
 his beloved Mary who had spurred him to live better and more 
 fully. It was a long way indeed from New Salem, and from a cabin 
 in Kentucky, which had no floor and no door or windows, far from 
 a small boy who had been whipped for asking questions. 
 
 He was leaving New Salem, too — but no, New Salem had left 
 him. Long since, the village which had done so much for him had 
 vanished. When he went over to say a few choked words at the 
 burial services of his dear old friend, Squire Bowling Green, he had 
 been horribly depressed by the devastation and death of that which 
 had once been the village where he had lived. 
 
 There had been scarcely anything left. The ruins of the Rutledge 
 tavern still stood, part of the carding mill, half a dozen fallen-down 
 buildings and only gaping foundation holes where the rest had been 
 taken away. Tall grass and weeds grew unrestrained over the ghost 
 town. The sight had sickened him and he wanted never to return. 
 There was nothing now to bring him back. 
 
 He had traveled again to Coles County, several weeks ago, to see 
 his stepmother, Sarah Bush Lincoln, before going to Washington. 
 His father was dead and so was his stepbrother, Jack Johnston. But 
 Sarah was there, secure and calm and good, beautiful in her old 
 age. In spite of Jack's attempts to sell her property, Abraham had 
 kept his promise and had seen that she was cared for in comfort. She 
 was old and thin and bent, but a sort of inner light shone from her 
 fine, large eyes. She had held both his strong hands in her frail but 
 capable ones and had cried a little. They had talked for a long time, 
 and she had fixed him dinner. She was proud of his great honor, she 
 said, but then, she had always been proud of him. 
 
 He had visited around with the relatives and neighbors, but spent 
 little time with them. It was Sarah he wanted to be with. She was 
 that link which took him back and back, eons away, to the Indiana 
 cabin after his own mother had died . . . and the dim memory of 
 
 214 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Nancy Lincoln was the link which carried him again to Kentucky 
 . . . and on and on in time until he could grow dizzy thinking of it. 
 
 "To this place and the kindness of these people I owe every- 
 thing." 
 
 That was not just a pretty sentiment. It was true. All these peo- 
 ple, all those of the past . . . Caleb Hazel showing him the wild 
 things . . . Josiah Crawford and Judge Pitcher loaning him books 
 . . . Allen Gentry, Denton Offutt, Mentor Graham, Squire Green, 
 James Rutledge, Joshua Speed, the people who had voted him four 
 times into the Legislature and once to the United States Congress 
 . . . John Stuart who had helped him become a lawyer . . . Mary 
 Todd Lincoln who loved him and had confidence in what he did 
 and what he could do . . . they had done this thing, not he. 
 
 "Here 1 have lived for a quarter of a century, and have passed 
 from a young to an old man" 
 
 It was curious to think of the passage of time and what it could 
 do to a man. As if he stood a long way off, he could remember an 
 unworried, ignorant youth who, nearly thirty years ago, led by 
 some strange and guiding impulse, came down the Sangamon River 
 to work at odd jobs in New Salem. A youth with no special talents, 
 aims or purposes in life ... he could scarcely relate him to the 
 tired individual who stood on a train platform in the rain, saying 
 good-bye to the people who had bestowed upon him the doubtful 
 honor of the presidency of the United States. He was only fifty-one 
 years old, but he felt very aged indeed, with the gray winter rain 
 pouring over the landscape and oppressing his soul. 
 
 "Here my children have been born, and one is buried." 
 
 Ah, his dear, dear boys! They were enough to make him young 
 again. He had always loved children, and when he and Mary had 
 had their first baby, had held their precious Bobby in their arms, he 
 had never felt his life so full, so wonderful and so meaningful as it 
 was then. 
 
 It had been fuller than ever when Eddie was added to the family, 
 now living in the fine house on Eighth Street. But he still inwardly 
 wept when he remembered how Eddie, at four years, had fallen ill 
 and no one could save his life. He had thought that his darling 
 
 215 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 Mary would die, too, so great was her anguish. But then God had 
 given them Willie and Tad to ease the grief of loss. He hated going 
 away and leaving the little one in his grave out in Hutchinson's 
 Cemetery. 
 
 "/ now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may re- 
 turn" 
 
 He had told William Herndon just the day before, with tears 
 very close to the eyes of both men, to keep the sign up, the one that 
 said LINCOLN AND HERNDON; because, if he lived, he would 
 be back some day and they could take up their practice where they 
 had left off. He wished heartily, with a sudden revulsion in his soul, 
 that he were not going, after all. He was sick of the job already and 
 shuddered at what lay ahead. 
 
 "with a task before me greater than that which rested upon 
 Washington" 
 
 He had always had tasks before him . . . the endless jobs of 
 chopping firewood for his mother, of splitting rails for his father 
 and the neighbors, or to pay for a poor, homespun suit of clothes — 
 a thousand fence rails to buy a suit which did not fit. He had had 
 tasks of physical strength, like fighting the Mississippi River or 
 neighborhood bullies; or of taming the forest for a cabin and a 
 garden patch; and there had been tasks of the mind which were in- 
 finitely harder. 
 
 He would still be a manual laborer, a riverman, a farmer, a wood- 
 cutter, with a placid existence and few worries except those of 
 death and taxes, if his mind had not driven him to the tasks before 
 him. Tasks like wresting an education out of nothing; of learning 
 river navigation and surveying; how to be a captain in the Illinois 
 militia, and how to bury men killed by Indians. They had been 
 tasks like law and mathematics, grammar, manners and judgment; 
 and the wisdom of dealing with men, and of using his deep inner 
 compassion to guide him when even his keen, analytical mind did 
 not always direct the true course. 
 
 But those had been small tasks compared with what lay ahead. 
 Before him lay the government of a nation which was disturbed 
 with hatred over issues which might not be settled peaceably, issues 
 
 216 
 
WITH A TASK BEFORE ME 
 
 which could split open and destroy the land that George Washing- 
 ton and the founding fathers had created with such love, thought 
 and precision. It was, appallingly, going to be up to him — to plain, 
 fumbling, uncertain Abraham Lincoln — no Washington, he — to 
 keep America whole, strong and safe forever. It was too much for 
 mortal man. Still — 
 
 "Without the assistance of that Divine Being Who ever attended 
 him, I cannot succeed. With that assistance, I cannot fail? 
 
 Within him rose again the deep conviction of the goodness of 
 God and the rightness of the destinies He guided, and a certain 
 calm power flowed into him. 
 
 "Trusting in Him who can go "with me, and remain with you, and 
 be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be 
 well. To His care commending you, as 1 hope in your prayers you 
 will commend me, 1 bid you an affectionate farewell" 
 
 A puffing locomotive drawing two bunting-draped cars moved 
 off into the gray slants of bitter February rain, which drenched the 
 already sodden Sangamon country, and headed east toward Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 217 
 
VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 has lived all her life in Springfield, Illinois, the heart of the Lincoln 
 country. As a natural outgrowth of this association, we now have 
 her fourth book about Abraham Lincoln, entitled With a Task Be- 
 fore Me. This carries the Lincoln story from 1832 to 1861 and his 
 departure for the White House, continuing a narrative which 
 began in The Buffalo Trace with the indomitable Lincoln grand- 
 parents in 1780. This book won the New York Herald Tribune 
 Award in 1955 and the Thomas Edison Foundation Award in 1956. 
 Chronologically there followed Out of the Wilderness and Three 
 Rivers South. With a Task Before Me is the fourth. 
 
 Mrs. Eifert, mother of an eleven-year old son, is editor of the 
 monthly magazine, The Living Museum, issued by the Illinois State 
 Museum, and author of Mississippi Calling, a nonfictional biography 
 of the big river, the people whom it influenced or who attempted to 
 influence it, from 9,000 B.C. to the present. To obtain material for 
 this comprehensive work, the author traveled more than 5,500 miles 
 on Diesel tewboats up and down the Mississippi, seeing firsthand 
 the diverse character of the river. 
 
 218 
 
$3.00 
 
 THE 
 BUFFALO TRACE 
 
 A STORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S 
 ANCESTORS 
 
 By VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 Illustrated by Manning de V. Lee 
 
 Far back in the days when Daniel Boone was 
 fighting Indians along the Wilderness Road 
 and the Buffalo Trace, there was an Abraham 
 Lincoln who sold his farm in Virginia and 
 braved the dangers of Kentucky to follow 
 Boone and build a home in the wilderness 
 and establish new frontiers for America. 
 
 the buffalo trace tells the thrilling and 
 moving story of that first Abraham and how 
 he and his gentle, gallant wife, Bathsheba, and 
 their young family put aside luxury and safety 
 to follow that ancient and perilous trail hewn 
 by herds of migrating buffalo over the Cum- 
 berland Gap. It also tells about Daniel Boone 
 and the Hanks family; of how Kentucky was 
 tamed and Abraham was felled by an Indian 
 bullet; how his son, Tom Lincoln, grew 
 up and married Nancy Hanks; and finally 
 about their small son, another Abraham Lin- 
 coln, who was destined to show his great heri- 
 tage of courage and personal sacrifice for his 
 loved country. 
 
 Ever since Virginia S. Eifert first traveled 
 today's portions of the Buffalo Trace— almost 
 precisely the route followed by three genera- 
 tions of Lincolns— she has felt the urge to tell 
 its story and that of some of its intrepid trav- 
 elers. This book is presented as fiction built 
 around the scant but significant fabric of his- 
 tory. It is a worthy companion to the author's 
 outstandingly fine three rivers south, A Story 
 of Young Abe Lincoln. 
 
 Manning de V. Lee has made thirteen fine 
 full-page wash drawings to illustrate the 
 
 BUFFALO TRACE. 
 
 An ageless book. 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
Anker Studio 
 
 VIRGINIA S. EIFERT 
 
 has lived all her life in Springfield, Illinois, the heart of the Lincoln country. 
 As a natural outgrowth of this association, we now have her fourth book 
 about Abraham Lincoln, entitled with a task before me. This carries the 
 Lincoln story from 1832 to 1861 and his departure for the White House, 
 climaxing a narrative which began in THE buffalo trace, with the pio- 
 neering of the indomitable Lincoln grandparents in 1780. This book won the 
 New York Herald Tribune Award in 1955 and the Thomas Edison Founda- 
 tion Award in 1956. Chronologically, there followed OUT OF THE WILDERNESS 
 and THREE RIVERS SOUTH. WITH A TASK BEFORE ME makes it a quartet. The 
 Presidential years will follow soon. 
 
 Mrs. Eifert, mother of a young son, is editor of the monthly magazine, 
 The Living /Museum, issued by the Illinois State Museum, and author of 
 MISSISSIPPI CALLING, a non-fictional biography of the big river, the people 
 whom it influenced or who attempted to influence it, from 9,000 B.C. to the 
 present. To obtain material 'fOT this comprehensive work, the author traveled 
 more than 5,500 miles on Diesel towboats up and down the Mississippi, seeing 
 firsthand the diverse character of the river. 
 
 D O D D , MEAD & COMPANY