Chapter 15

WHEREIN HARRY AND ABE RIDE UP TO SPRINGDALE AND VISIT KELSO'S AND LEARN
OF THE CURIOUS LONESOMENESS OF ELIPHALET BIGGS.

Illinois was growing. In June score of prairie schooners, loaded with old
and young, rattled over the plains from the East. There were many Yankees
from Ohio, New York and New England in this long caravan. There were
almost as many Irish, who had set out for this land of golden promise as
soon as they had been able to save money for a team and wagon, after
reaching the new world. There were some Germans and Scandinavians in the
dust clouds of the National Road. Steamers on the Illinois River
scattered their living freight along its shores. These were largely from
Kentucky, southern Ohio, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia. The call of
the rich and kindly lands had traveled far and streams of life were
making toward them, to flow with increasing speed and volume for many
years.
People in Sangamon County had begun to learn of the thriving village of
Chicago in the North. Abe said that Illinois would be the Empire State of
the West; that a new era of rapid development and great prosperity was
near. Rumors of railroad and canal projects and river improvements were
on every tongue. Samson and Sarah took new heart of the prospect and
decided to try another year in New Salem, although an Irishman had made a
good offer for their farm. Land was in great request and there were many
transfers of title. Abe had more surveying to do than he was able to
accomplish that summer. Harry was with him for some weeks. He could earn
two dollars a day with Abe, whereas Samson was able to hire a helper for
half that sum. Harry made a confident of his friend, and when they were
working at the northern end of the county they borrowed a pair of horses
and rode up to Kelso's house and spent a Sunday there.
Bim met them down the road a mile or so from Hopedale. She, too, was on
the back of a horse. She recognized them before they were in hailing
distance and waved her hand and hurried toward them with a happy face.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To see you and your father and mother," said Harry.
A sad look came into her eyes.
"If I had a stone I would throw it at you," she said.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because I have to get used to being miserable, and just as I begin to be
resigned to it, you come along and make me happy, and I have it all to do
over again."
The young man stopped his horse.
"I hadn't thought of that," he said, with a sad face. "It isn't fair to
you, is it? It's rather--selfish."
"Why don't you go to Brimstead's," Bim suggested. "A beautiful girl over
there is in love with you. Honestly, Harry, there isn't a sweeter girl in
all the world."
"I ought not to go there, either," said the young man.
"Why?"
"Because I mustn't let her think that I care for her. I'll go over to
Peasley's and wait for Abe there."
"Look here," said the latter. "You both remind me of a man in a Kentucky
village who couldn't bear to hear a rooster crow. It kept him awake
nights, for the roosters did a lot o' crowing down there. He moved from
one place to another, trying to find a cockless town. He couldn't. There
was no such place in Kentucky. He thought of taking to the woods, but he
hated loneliness more than he hated roosters. So he did a sensible thing.
He started a chicken farm and got used to it. He found that a little
crowing was too much, and that a lot of it was just what he needed. You
two have got to get used to each other. What you need is more crowing. If
you saw each other every day you wouldn't look so wonderful as when you
don't."
"I reckon that's a good idea," said Bim. "Come on, Harry, let's get used
to crowing. We'll start in to-day to fall out of love with each other. We
must be very cold and distant and haughty and say every mean thing we can
think of."
So it happened that Harry went on with Bim and Abe to the little house in
Hopedale. Jack Kelso sat reading in the shade of a tree by his door-step.
"I hope you feel as good as you look," Abe called, as they rode up.
"I've been feeling like a fly in a drum," Jack answered. "I've just heard
a sermon by Peter Cartwright."
"What do you think of him?"
"He is saturated in the statistics of vice. His Satan is too busy; his
hell is too big, too hot and too durable. He is a kind of human onion
designed to make women weep."
Abe answered with a laugh:
"It is said that General Jackson went into his church one Sunday and that
a deacon notified Mr. Cartwright of the presence of the great man. They
say that the stern preacher exclaimed in a clearly audible tone: General
Jackson! What does God care for General Jackson? If he don't repent, God
will damn him as quick as he would damn a Guinea nigger.'"
"He's just that thumping, downright kind of a man," Kelso remarked. "How
are you getting on with the books?"
"I have _Chitty on Contracts_ strapped to the pommel," said Abe. "I did
my stint coming over, but I had to walk and lead the pony."
"Every book you read gets a baptism of Democracy," said Kelso. "An idle
aristocracy of the shelves loafing in fine coats and immaculate linen is
not for the wise man. Your book has to roll up its sleeves and go to work
and know the touch of the sweaty hand. Swift used to say that some men
treat books as they do Lords--learn their titles and then brag of having
been in their company. There are no Lords and Ladies among your books.
They are just men and women made for human service."
"I don't read long at once," Abe remarked. "I scratch into a book, like a
hen on a barn floor, until my crop is full, and then I digest what I have
taken."
Harry and Bim had put out the horses. Now the girl came and sat on her
father's knee. Harry sat down by the side of Abe on the grass in the
oak's shadow.
"It is a joy to have the little girl back again," said Kelso, as he
touched her hair with his hand. "It is still as yellow as a corn tassel.
I wonder it isn't gray."
"Her eyes look as bright as ever to-day," said Harry.
"No compliments, please. I want you to be downright mean," Bim protested.
Kelso looked up with a smile: "My boy, it was Leonardo da Vinci who said
that a man could have neither a greater nor a less dominion than that
over himself."
"What a cruel-looking villain he is!" Bim exclaimed, with a smile.
"I wouldn't dare say what I think of him."
"If you keep picking on me I'll cut loose and express my opinion of you,"
he retorted.
"Your opinions have ceased to be important," she answered, with a look of
indifference.
"I think this is a clear case of assault and flattery," said Kelso.
"It pains me to look at you," Bim went on.
"Wait until I learn to play the flute and the snare drum," Harry
threatened.
"I'm glad that New Salem is so far away," she sighed.
"I'll go and look at the new moon through a knot hole," he laughed.
"My dears, no more of this piping," said Kelso. "Bim must tell us what
she has learned of the great evil of slavery. It is most important that
Abe should hear it."
Bim told of revolting scenes she had witnessed in St. Louis and New
Orleans--of flogging and buying and selling and herding. It was a painful
story, the like of which had been traveling over the prairies of Illinois
for years. Some had accepted these reports; many, among whom were the
most judicious men, had thought they detected in them the note of gross
exaggeration. Here, at last, was a witness whose word it was impossible
for those who knew her to doubt. Abe put many questions and looked very
grave when the testimony was all in.
"If you have any doubt," said Bim, "I ask you to look at that mark on my
arm. It was made by the whip of Mr. Eliphalet Biggs."
The young men looked with amazement at a scar some three or four inches
long on her forearm.
"If he would do that to his wife, what treatment could you expect for his
niggers?" Bim asked. "There are many Biggses in the South."
"What so vile as a cheap, rococo aristocracy--growing up in idleness, too
noble to be restrained, with every brutal passion broad blown as flush as
May?" Kelso growled.
"Nothing is long sacred in the view of any aristocracy--not even God,"
Abe answered. "They make a child's plaything of Him and soon cast Him
aside."
"But I hold that if our young men are to be trained to tyranny in a lot
of little nigger kingdoms, our Democracy will die."
Abe made no answer. He was always slow to commit himself.
"The North is partly to blame for what has come," said Samson. "I guess
our Yankee captains brought over most of the niggers and sold them to the
planters of the South."
"There was a demand for them, or those Yankee pirates wouldn't have
brought the niggers," Harry answered. "Both seller and buyer were
committing a crime."
"They established a great wrong and now the South is pushing to extend
and give it the sanction of law," said Abe. "There is the point of
irritation and danger."
"I hear that in the next Legislature an effort will be made to endorse
slavery," said Kelso. "It would be like endorsing Nero and Caligula."
"It is a dangerous subject," Abe answered. "Whatever happens, I shall not
fail to express my opinion of slavery if I go back."
"The time is coming when you will take the bull by the horns," said
Kelso. "There's no fence that will keep him at home."
"I hope that isn't true," Abe answered.
Soon Mrs. Kelso called Bim to set the table. She and Harry brought it out
under the tree, where, in the cool shade, they had a merry dinner.
When the dishes were put away Percy Brimstead arrived with his sister
Annabel in their buggy. Bim went out to meet them and came into the
dooryard with her arm around Annabel's waist.
"Did any one ever see a lovelier girl than this?" Bim asked, as they
stood up before the dinner party.
"Her cheeks are like wild roses, her eyes like the dew on them when the
sun is rising," said Kelso.
"But look at her mouth and the teeth in it the next time she smiles," Bim
went on.
"Aye, they are well wrought," her father answered.
"If you don't stop, I shall run," Annabel protested.
"I haven't said a word, but I want you to know that I am deeply
impressed," said Harry. "No girl has a right to be as handsome as you are
and come and look into the face of a young man who has resolved to look
at the new moon through a knot bole."
"Well, who would have thought it!" Bim exclaimed. "Such a wonderful
compliment, and from Harry Needles!"
"Of course he didn't mean it," said Annabel, whose cheeks were now very
red.
"Of course I mean it," Harry declared. "That's why I keep away from your
house. I am bound to stay single."
"Did you ever see a fairy going to mill on a butterfly's back?" Bim
asked, looking at Harry.
"Not as I remember," he answered.
"If you had, you wouldn't expect us to believe it," Bim asserted.
"There was a soldier in Colonel Taylor's regiment who always ran when the
enemy was in sight," Abe began. "When he was brought up for discipline,
he said 'My heart is as brave as Julius C鎠ar's but my legs can't be
trusted.' I know Harry's legs are all right, but I don't believe his
heart can be trusted in a battle of this kind."
"I've heard all about his brave adventures in the war," said Bim. "He'll
find that girls are worse than Indians."
"If they're as well armed as you two, I guess you're right," said Samson.
Abe rose and said: "The day is passing. I'll start on with Parsons and
the pony and read my stint afoot. You come along in a few minutes. By the
time you overtake me I'll be ready to get into the saddle."
Half an hour or so after Abe had gone, Harry's horse, which had been
whinnying for his mate, bounded out of the stable and went galloping down
the road, having slipped his halter.
"He will not stop until he overtakes the other horse," said Harry.
"You can ride with us," Annabel suggested.
So the young man brought his saddle and bridle and put it under the seat
of the buggy and got in with Annabel and her small brother.
"Don't let us go too far," said Bim, as she stood by the side of the
buggy. "You haven't offered to shake hands."
"It was a deliberate slight--just to please you," Harry answered, as they
shook hands.
"You are behaving terribly well," Bim exclaimed, merrily. "Now, Annabel,
here is your chance to convert him."
She laughed and shook her hand, as they rode away, and went into the
house and sat down and for a time was like one whose heart is broken.
"Oh, the troubles of the young!" her mother exclaimed, as she kissed her.
"They are ever the wonder of the old!" said Kelso, who stood near.
"I love him! I love him!" the girl moaned.
"I don't wonder," her father answered. "He is a big, brave, clean lad,
and handsome as a Greek god. He will love you all the better for your
self-restraint. It makes me proud of you, my daughter--proud of you! Be
of good cheer. The day of your emancipation may not be long delayed."
Some two miles down the road Harry found Abe standing between the horses,
holding the runaway by his forelock. The latter was saddled and bridled,
while the buggy went on ahead.
"That is a wonderful girl," said Harry, as he and Abe were riding along
together. "She is very modest and gentle hearted."
"And as pleasant to look at as the flowery meadows," Abe answered.
"I have promised to stop there a few minutes on our way back."
"It is possible Bim could get a divorce," said Abe, looking down
thoughtfully at the mane of his horse. "I'll ask Stuart what he thinks
about it when I see him again."
"I hope you'll see him soon."
"As soon as I can get to Springfield."
Brimstead and Abe had a talk together, while Harry went into the house.
"Say, there's a good many kinds o' trouble," said the former, in a low
tone, "but one o' the worst is skunks. Say, I'll tell ye, there's a
feller lives over in the woods a few miles from here that had a skunk in
a pen. His name is Hinge. Somebody had been stealin' his grain, so the
other night he hitched that skunk right under the barn door. The thief
came and the skunk punished him tolerable severe. The next day Free
Collar, the famous Constable, was comin' up the road from Sangamon County
and met that man Biggs on a horse. Say--"
Brimstead looked about him and stepped close to Abe and added in a tone
of extreme confidence: "Biggs had left a streak behind him a mile long.
Its home was Biggs. It had settled down and gone into business on him and
was doin' well and gettin' a reputation. Collar coughed and backed away.
For four days he had been chasin' that man to arrest him. Biggs had been
hid in the woods near Hinge's cabin an' had stole grain for his horses.
"'Here I am,' said Biggs. 'You can have me. I'm lonesome.'
"'You'll be lonesomer 'fore I go near ye,' says Collar.
"'I thought you wanted to arrest me,' says Biggs.
"'Say, man, I'd 'a' been glad to see you go to prison for a year or two,
but now I'm plum sorry for ye,' says Collar. 'A constable who wouldn't
run if he smelt you comin' would be a durn fool.'
"They started in opposite directions. In half a minute the Constable
hollered to Biggs:
"'Say, they've got a railroad train on a track over in Ohio, but they
can't make it run. I wouldn't wonder if you could help 'em.'"
Brimstead added in a half whisper:
"Biggs went on, but the poor devil is livin' a God lonesome life. He
can't sleep in a buildin' an' his food'll have to be throwed to him. It's
a new way to defeat justice."
Abe's laughter was like the neigh of a horse. It brought Harry out of the
house. He mounted his pony and, as they rode away, Abe told him of the
fate of Biggs.
"I don't believe he'll take another Illinois girl away with him," Abe
laughed.
"Talk about the chains of bondage! He's buried in 'em," Harry exclaimed.
In a moment he said: "That lovely girl gave me a necktie and a pair of
gloves that she has knit with her own hands. I'll never forget the way
she did it and the look of her. It rather touched my heart."
"She's as innocent as a child," said Abe. "It's hard on a girl like that
to have to live in this new country. Her father and mother have promised
to let her come for a visit with Ann. I'll go up next Saturday and take
her down to New Salem with me."
This kindly plan of Abe's--so full of pleasant possibilities--fell into
hopeless ruin next day, when a letter came from Dr. Allen, telling him
that Ann was far gone with a dangerous fever. Both Abe and Harry dropped
their work and went home. Ann was too sick to see her lover.
The little village was very quiet those hot summer days. The sorrow of
the pretty maiden had touched the hearts of the simple kindly folk who
lived there. They would have helped her bear it--if that had been
possible--as readily as they would have helped at a raising. For a year
or more there had been a tender note in their voices when they spoke of
Ann. They had learned with great gladness of her engagement to marry Abe.
The whole community were as one family with its favorite daughter about
to be crowned with good fortune greater than she knew. Now that she was
stricken down, their feeling was more than sympathy. The love of justice,
the desire to see a great wrong righted, in a measure, was in their
hearts when they sought news of the little sufferer at the tavern.
There was no shouting in the street, no story-telling in the dooryards,
no jesting in the stores and houses, no merry parties, gladdened by the
notes of the violin, in the days and nights of Ann's long illness.
Samson writes in his diary that Abe went about like a man in a dream,
with no heart for work or study. He spent much time at the Doctor's
office, feeling for some straw of hope.
One day late in August, as he stood talking with Samson Traylor in the
street, Dr. Allen called him from his door-step. Abe turned very pale as
he obeyed the summons.
"I've just come from her bedside," said Dr. Allen. "She wants to see you.
I've talked it over with her parents, and we've decided to let you and
her have a little visit together. You must be prepared for a great change
in Ann. There's not much left of the poor girl. A breath would blow her
away. But she wants to see you. It may be better than medicine. Who
knows?"
The two men went across to the tavern. Mrs. Rutledge and Abe tiptoed up
the stairway. The latter entered the room of the sick girl. The woman
closed the door. Ann Rutledge was alone with her lover. There were none
who knew what happened in that solemn hour save the two--one of whom was
on the edge of eternity, and the other was never to speak of it. The only
record of that hour is to be found in the face and spirit of a great man.
Years later Samson wrote in a letter.
       *       *       *       *       *
"I saw Abe when he came out of the tavern that day. He was not the Abe we
had all known. He was different. There were new lines in his face. It was
sorrowful. His steps were slow. He had passed out of his young manhood.
When I spoke to him, he answered with that gentle dignity now so familiar
to all who know him. From that hour he was Abraham Lincoln."
       *       *       *       *       *
Ann passed away before the month ended and became, like many of her kind,
an imperishable memory. In her presence the spirit of the young man had
received such a baptism that henceforward, taking thought of her, he was
to love purity and all cleanness, and no Mary who came to his feet with
tears and ointment was ever to be turned away.