Part 2 (1/2)
The Lincoln homestead in Indiana, in 1820-23, had at the first the primitive corn-mill in the Indian fas.h.i.+on--a burnt-out block with a pounder rigged to a well-sweep. A water-mill being set up ten miles off, on Anderson's Creek, that was superseded, as improvement marched, by a horse-power one. To this Lincoln, as a lad of sixteen or seventeen, would carry the corn in a bag upon an old flea-bitten gray mare. One day, on unhitching the animal and loading it, and running his arm through the head-gear loop to lead, he had no sooner struck it and cried ”Get up, you de----,” when the beast whirled around, and, las.h.i.+ng out, kicked him in the forehead so that he fell to the ground insensible.
The miller, Hoffman, ran out and carried the youth indoors, sending for his father, as he feared the victim would not revive. He did not do so until hours after having been carried home. When conscious, his faculties, as psychologically ordained, resumed operations from the instant of suspension, and he uttered the sequel to his outcry:
”----vil!”
Lincoln's own explanation is thus:
”Just before I struck the mare, my will, through the mind, had set the muscles of my tongue to utter the expression, and when her heels came in contact with my head, the whole thing stopped half-c.o.c.ked, as it were, and was only fired off when mental energy or force returned.”
His friends interpreted the occurrence as a proof of his always finis.h.i.+ng what he commenced.
”NO HEAPING COALS OF FIRE ON THAT HEAD.”
The wantonly cruel experiment of testing the sensitiveness in reptiles armored, pa.s.sed into a proverb out West in pioneer times. Besides carving initials and dates on the sh.e.l.l of land tortoises, boys would fling the creatures against tree or rock to see it perish with its exposed and lacerated body, or literally place burning coals on the back. In such cases Lincoln, a boy in his teens, but a redoubtable young giant, would not only interfere vocally, but with his arms, if needed.
”Don't terrapins have feelings?” he inquired.
The torturer did not know the right answer, and, persisting in the treatment, had the s.h.i.+ngle wrenched from his hand and the cinders stamped out, while the sufferer was allowed to go away.
”Well, feelings or none, he won't be burned any more while I am around!”
He did not always have to resort to force in his corrections, as he obtained the t.i.tle of ”Peacemaker” by other means, and the spell in his tongue, at that age.
STUMPING THE STUMP-SPEAKER.
When Lincoln became a man and, divorced from his father's grasping tyranny, set up as a field-hand, he lightened the labor in Menard County by orating to his mates, and they gladly suspended their tasks to listen to him recite what he had read and invented--or, rather, adapted to their circ.u.mscribed understanding. Besides mimicry of the itinerant preachers, he imitated the electioneering advocates of all parties and local politics. One day, one such educator collected the farmers and their help around him to eulogize some looming-up candidate, when a cousin and admirer of young Lincoln cast a damper on him, crying out, with general approval, that Abe could talk him dry! Accepting the challenge, the professional spellbinder allowed his place on the stump of the cottonwood to be held by the raw Demosthenes. To his astonishment the country lad did display much fluency, intelligence, and talent for the craft. Frankly the stranger complimented him and wished him well in a career which he recommended him to adopt. From this cheering, Lincoln proceeded to speak in public--his limited public--”talking on all subjects till the questions were worn slick, greasy, and threadbare.”
MAKING THE WOOL, NOT FEATHERS, FLY.
The ”export trade” of the Indiana farmers was with New Orleans, the goods being carried on flatboats. The traffic called for a larger number of resolute, hardy, and honest men, as, besides the vicissitudes of fickle navigation, was the peril from thieves. Abraham early made acquaintance with this course as he accompanied his father in such a venture down the great river. Then pa.s.sed apprentices.h.i.+p, he built a boat for Gentry--merchant of Gentryville--and ”sailed” it, with the storekeeper's son Allen as bow-hand or first officer. He and his crew of one started from the Ohio River landing and safely reached the Crescent City--safely as to cargo and bodies, but not without a narrow escape. At Baton Rouge, a little ahead of the haven, the boat was tied up at a plantation, and the two were asleep, when they became objects of an attack from a river pest--a band of refugee negroes and similar lawless rogues.
Luckily their approach was heard and the two awoke. Having been warned that the desperadoes would not stand on trifles, the young men armed themselves with clubs and leaped ash.o.r.e, after driving the pirates off the deck. They pursued them, too, with such an uproar that their number was multiplied in the runaways' mind. Both returned wounded--Abraham retaining a mark over the right eye, noticeable in after life, and not to his facial improvement. They immediately unhitched the boat and stood out in the channel.
”I wish we had carried weapons,” sighed Lincoln. ”Going to war without shooting-irons is not what the Quakers hold it to be.”
”If we had been armed,” returned Allen, as regretfully, ”we would have made the feathers fly!”
It had not been too dark for the shade of the enemy to be perceived, so his skipper gave one of his earnest laughs, and replied:
”You mean _wool_, I reckon!”
LOG-ROLLING TO SAVE LIVES.