Abraham Lincoln: A Story and a Play

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ABRAHAM LINCOLN

A STORY AND A PLAY

BY

THE STORY Early Life

THE STORY

THE STORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

THROUGHOUT the United States, boys and girls take delight in celebrating the twelfth of February. It is because on that day the great and good man, Abraham Lincoln, first opened his eyes on this world.

The home to which the baby came was poor and bare. It was a tiny cabin in the state of Kentucky, which was then a rough, unsettled country. Around the cabin were thick woods where wild animals roamed freely. The cry of catamounts and the howling of wolves could be heard in the stillness of the night. Turkeys and deer often ran across the path of the settlers. There were few neighbors, for only brave people were as yet willing to venture so far into the backwoods.

Only a short time before there was constant danger from the Indians, who were likely to attack the white people at any moment. Abraham's own grandfather was killed by one of these savages while he was busy with his two older sons making a clearing about his home. The youngest son, Thomas, who was afterwards Abraham's father, was playing near them. When their father fell, the older boys ran off to get help, telling Thomas to watch his father's dead body.

As soon as the child was left alone, the Indian, who was hiding near by, saw his chance. Terrible in his war paint, he crept up towards the child and was about to seize him and carry him away, when one of the brothers came hurrying back. Whiz flew a bullet from his rifle! The savage fell dead and the boy was safe.

In this kind of life, so full of danger, the boy Thomas grew up. There was no school where he could learn to read and write. The days were spent out of doors, cutting down the trees of the forest near by, hunting wild animals, and tending the little garden.

When Thomas became a young man he married a girl named Nancy Hanks who had been brought up in better circumstances than he. She had been to school, and though she had always lived in the "backwoods," she had the gentle and beautiful nature of a true lady.

In the new home where she went to live with her husband, the young wife did not have the comforts to which we are used. There were no carpets to spread over the rough unpainted floor and only a few pieces of homemade furniture. The cooking was done before a big fireplace from which the burning logs gave the only light after the sun had set.

After Abraham's sister was born, the family moved to a different place, called Rock Spring Farm. The country around was quite beautiful, and near the cabin, half hidden by a clump of trees and bushes, was a deep spring of clear water. On this farm the little Abraham first saw the light, and here he lived until he was seven years old.

In the woods near by he could watch the squirrels and rabbits at play. There was the spring close at hand with its song of gladness; there were berries to pick and nuts to gather. Yet the little boy must often have been lonely, since he had few playfellows. Then, when night came, there was no cosy, cheerful home with its bright light to welcome him—only a small, dark cabin with its bare walls and floor, and a hard bed under the roof, through whose cracks the rain could beat down on the child's face below.

Abraham could not have been happy in those days. Afterwards, when he became a man, he seldom spoke of them, even to his dearest friends. There was a small school-house not far from the farm, and here Abraham and his sister learned their a-b-c's. Afterwards, they went for a short time to another school four miles away.

Abraham's father was "easy going" as people say. He liked talking with his friends and dreaming dreams better than hard work. Stories came to him of a richer country in Indiana where he might have a better farm.

"I will go there and look the country over," he said to his wife. It was a long ways off, but as he was a good carpenter he decided to make a flat boat on which he could float down Knob Creek, which was only a short way from his home. Then, moving from one river to another, he would at last reach Indiana.

The boat was soon made and Mr. Lincoln started out on his journey. When he reached the new country he was much pleased, and there, in the midst of a forest, he decided upon the place for a home. He would return at once for his family. He could not float his flatboat up stream, however. So sold it to a settler near by, and started on foot for Kentucky.

At this time Abraham was seven years old and his sister Sarah was nine. Like all other children, they were probably pleased when their father got back and told of the new home which they were to seek in Indiana. They could not walk all the way, because the country was too rough and wild. But the father got two horses on which the children and their mother rode during the first part of the journey.

Towards the end they travelled in a farm wagon which Mr. Lincoln hired from one of the settlers along the way. At last they reached a stretch of thick forest, and there in its midst they made ready to settle. Winter was near and shelter must be put up at once. Abraham's father set to work and built what is called a half-faced camp. That is, the house had only three sides. The fourth was left open.

There was no floor, neither were there windows or chimney, and the wind and rain were free to beat their way inside. For about a year this was the only home that the family had.

Abraham was tall and strong for his age, and he worked hard, helping his father clear the land for a farm. From morning till night his long arms were busy felling the trees or ploughing the ground for a garden. When his mother needed meal for making bread, the boy would fill some bags with corn, and then carry it on horseback to the mill seven miles away, to have it ground.

By the end of the year the boy had helped his father make a better home than the poor half-faced camp, but even now there were neither windows nor door nor floor. Soon afterwards Abraham's mother, who had borne so many hardships, suddenly became very ill.

There was no doctor at hand to save her, and she died, leaving her two children with their father to get along as best they could. How deeply Abraham had loved this tender mother, who had already done so much for him! He never forgot her, and whenever he spoke of her afterwards his voice grew soft and tender. He called her his "angel mother."

After she died, Abraham's sister Sarah, who was then only eleven years old, became the housekeeper. She cooked and sewed for her father and brother as best she could. It must have been hard work for the poor child, and she was prob glad when the next year her father went back to Kentucky, to marry a widow whom he had known in her girlhood.

A PLAYScene One

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

A PLAY

Lend eye and ear, my children dear; I, History, will now bring near The one whose wisdom, great and true, Did save this land beloved by you. Here now the backwoods boy behold, Unlettered, rough, but for truth ever bold.

Scene I

Place,—Interior of a log house at Pigeon Creek, Indiana.

Time,—About 1820.

Abraham Lincoln, his Stepmother, and Matilda, his stepsister. (Lincoln is stretched on the floor, working out a problem on a big wooden shovel with a bit of charcoal. At the same time he is eating his breakfast of corncake. His stepmother and sister are cleaning off the table.

Matilda,—Mother, did you hear about the spelling match at the school house?

Mother,—No, did the children do well?

Matilda,—Why, you see, the class was poorer than usual and one after another failed until the schoolmaster began to get angry. You know he has a terrible temper. He gave out the word, defied. My, but you oughter have heard the way the class went down on that! The first one spelled it, d-e-f-y-e-d, the next said, d-e-f-i-d-e, and so on. But nobody hit it right. "Next, next," the schoolmaster kept saying and he was gittin' madder and madder every minute. At last he began to jump up and down while he shouted, "The school shall not be dismissed till that word is spelled right."

After that he sorter caught his breath and called on Kate Roby. She's an awful pretty girl, you know, and I guess Abe likes her powerful well. My, but she was scared though! She didn't know any better than the rest of us. She began, d-e-f-, and everybody knew by the shape of her mouth she was going to say y.

Just then she happened to look at Abe. He was standing opposite her in the line, and he was grinning. Quick as a wink he lifted his hand up and pointed to his eye. Of course Kate guessed what he wanted to tell her. She went on, and finished without any trouble. I reckon she's thankful to Abe for gettin' her out of her trouble. And the class, too, for that matter!

Mother (smiling),—That is just like Abe, always ready to help someone that is in trouble. (Turning now to Abe, who has been so busy that he didn't hear the conversation.) Abe!

Abe (starting at hearing his name called),—What is it, mother?

Mother,—Abe, come, come, take your axe and start for the woodland.

Abe (laying down his charcoal and swallowthe last bit of corn-cake),—Yes, mother. (He jumps up, takes down the ax which hangs against the side of the wall, and with long strides leaves the hut and goes down the path towards the woods.)

Matilda,—I'm going with Abe, mother. I like to watch him cut down the trees.

Mother,—No, you can't go to-day. You must help me. Now don't pout, my child. Those beans should be picked. I have a hundred things to do myself. After the housework is finished, I must sew for the children.

Matilda (scowling, takes a pail and goes out of the hut, talking to herself),—I don't care. I'm going with Abe, anyway. If I hurry, I can catch up with him yet. (Matilda runs and catches up with Abe, who is whistling as he strides along. She makes a sudden spring, and lands on her brother's shoulders. Pressing her knees against his back she pulls him down upon the ground. His ax falls and makes a sharp cut in her knee.)

Matilda (screaming),—Oh, Oh, Oh!

Abe,—Sh! there! there! don't be scared. I'll have it all right in a minute. (He tears off a strip of cloth from his ragged shirt sleeve, and binds it about the girl's knee.)

Matilda (still crying),—Oh, Oh, Oh!

Abe,—'Tilda, how could you? I am astonished. To think that you should disobey your mother.

Matilda (rocking herself to and fro),—Oh, Oh, Oh!

Abe (sternly now),—What will you tell mother? How will you explain about getting hurt?

Matilda,—I'll tell her that I did it with the ax. Isn't that the truth?

Abe,—Yes, Tilda, it is the truth, but it isn't the whole truth. Be a brave girl when you go home. Tell your mother the whole truth, and leave the rest to her.

Matilda (looking up into her brother's kind but firm face),—Yes, Abe, I reckon you are right. I'll do what you say. (She limps away).

Abe (talking to himself),—Poor Tilda! it is hard to be brave, even in little things. (He sighs.) I must be brave, too, but in a different way. I long for book-learning, and to know the great world far away from this rough home of ours, but I must plod on day after day and keep cheerful for mother's sake. I will be a great man yet, though, unlikely as it seems. I feel it. Yes, I know it.

ru:Авраам Линкольн (Уэйд)/Сцена 1

THE STORYSchool Days

School Days

The new stepmother brought a large wagonload of furniture and clothing to her Indiana home. One of the pieces was a bureau which had cost fifty dollars. It must have seemed very wonderful to Abraham and Sarah, who had been used to rough homemade furniture all their lives.

When Mrs. Lincoln looked around her new home she said she would not be satisfied until a floor had been laid. The house must also have windows and a door. When these had been attended to, and the furniture set in place, Abraham was more comfortable than he had ever been in his life.

The stepmother had a loving heart, and though she had three children of her own, she treated Abraham and Sarah very kindly and did all she could to make them happy.

"Even if we live in these backwoods, they must have book learning," she declared. "They shall not grow up ignorant."

There was a small schoolhouse not far away, and soon after the stepmother had taken charge of the family, the children began to go to school. There they studied "readin', writin' and cipherin'."

There were few books in the school, and neither paper nor ink, as it was nearly impossible for people living in the midst of the forest to get such things. The school-house itself was small and dark. When the door was closed the only light came through squares of greased paper, which were used instead of glass for windows.

The benches where the children sat were logs split in halves and set up on legs. Yet Abraham was so glad to get a chance to learn, that he was happy during the short time he was able to go to this school. He loved his studies so much, that after working hard on the farm all day, he used every spare minute of the evening reading the few books he was able to borrow from his neighbors, or doing "sums" with bits of charcoal on the wooden fire shovel.

There were no lamps nor candles in the house. The boy, however, would stretch out on the floor before the fireplace, and by the light of the burnings logs, he managed to do his sums and his reading. Abraham's stepmother soon discovered that he had a bright mind and she encouraged him to study. She loved him dearly, for he was as thoughtful and kindhearted and truthful as he was eager to learn.

"Abe never gave me a cross word or look. I must say Abe was the best boy I ever saw or expect to see," she said afterwards.

When Abraham was fourteen years old he went for a short time to another school, and again when he was nearly seventeen. This last was four or five miles away, but it was better than any of the others. Here the boy had a chance to use pen and ink, and was given a copy-book in which to write.

The teacher had been "out in the world." So, with the other studies, he taught these backwood pupils what he called "manners." He showed them how to enter a room filled with people. He trained the boys in taking off their hats and bowing politely to the girls when they met them.

"How much our teacher knows!" thought the pupils, and though they were awkward, they tried their best to follow the master's directions. When Abraham afterwards left his country home and went to live in a city, he was probably very glad of the "manners" he learned that winter.

There were other things which he enjoyed greatly in this last school. One of them was the Friday "speaking," when the boys and girls took their turns in standing up before the class and recited the "pieces" they had learned. Then there were compositions. At one time Abraham wrote on "Cruelty to Animals." His tender heart could not bear to have dumb creatures surfer. Still another of his compositions was on "Temperance." One of the neighbors admired this so much that he had it printed in a newspaper.

Abraham never had another chance to attend school. Altogether he spent less than one year in a school-room, yet "between times" he taught himself as best he could, borrowing every neighbor's book he could get.

This borrowing once got him into sad trouble. Abraham was working for a rich man named Crawford. During the day he split rails, ploughed and took care of the cattle. He sometimes helped in the house, too, and even tended the baby for Mrs. Crawford, who was very kind to him and loaned him books, which he read after he went to bed at night.

One evening when Abraham had finished reading, he tucked the book away between the logs in the wall beside his bed, as he usually did when he was ready for sleep. Before morning a storm arose, and he woke up to find the book drenched through from the rain which had made its way through the chinks of the wall.

When he took it back, Mr. Crawford said, "I won't accept such a book. You may keep it, but you must pay for it by pulling fodder." Abraham felt quite bitter that a wealthy man like Mr. Crawford should be so hard upon him, a poor boy. But he set to work, and in three days he earned his first book. It was Weem's "Life of Washington."

For weeks afterwards Abraham spent all his spare time in reading and rereading his precious book. Over and over again he followed Washington through the brave adventures of his youth and the battles in which he dared so much.

While Abraham was poring over the life of the "Father of his Country," the boy little dreamed that he himself would become the wise, "Big Brother." Yes, it would be through his love and foresight that America would be saved, and her people kept together in one great family.

"Robinson Crusoe," "Aesop's Fables," "Pilgrim's Progress" and a "History of the United States" were also great favorites with Abraham. He came to know them almost by heart. Then, of course, there was the Bible, which he had learned to love when a tiny, little fellow. His own mother had often read it to him before he was old enough to study it for himself.

Much as Abraham liked to read, he was also fond of sports. He ran races, he took part in wrestling matches, and when there was a huskingbee or a house-raising, there he was to be found, the merriest, happiest one of the whole company. He was such a big, strong fellow, six feet four inches tall before he was twenty years old, that he could outstrip his fellows in everything he tried.

No one around could chop wood or split rail so fast as Abraham Lincoln. No other man could lift so big a weight as he, or equal him in wrestling. But he was not satisfied with doing these things. He was just as eager to be a fine story teller, to be a clear writer, and to argue so well that everyone who listened would be forced to agree with him. He soon became the wonder of the whole country side, and people would gather about him whenever they had a chance to listen to his stories and speeches.

Though he went to school for such a short time, and though there were so few books that he could get hold of, yet Abraham was constantly learning in other ways. People from other places passed through the country from time to time, and the boy listened eagerly to their stories.

He would often repeat these stories to himself when he was alone. Then, between his father and his men friends there were talks to which Abraham gave close attention, hoping to learn something he did not already know. Most exciting of all was what he heard at the court-house in the town fifteen miles away. He did not consider the long walk through the woods, but whenever it was possible for him to leave his work for the day, he would set out for the town with long, swinging steps.

When he arrived at the court-house he was sure to be rewarded. Men and women were tried there for wrong-doing, and they were often defended by great lawyers who had come from the cities far away. Abraham listened carefully to the speeches which he stored away in his mind. At such times the log-house in the backwoods, the hum-drum ploughing and wood chopping were forgotten, for the young fellow was living in thought in the big, outside world.

After such days in court, Abraham could often be seen standing in the middle of the field, when he should have been at work, repeating the speeches he had heard to a crowd of neighbors. So well did he speak, that they, too, forgot the work in hand, and were carried far away from their backwood's home.

Now, in the books Abraham read, and in the talks and speeches he heard, there were words whose meaning he did not know, and expressions that were not clear. Then he was much troubled. He would spend a long time thinking over the matter and trying to understand.

At such times he would say to himself something like this, "Whenever I speak to others, no matter what the subject may be, it shall be said so clearly and simply, that every one will understand me."

He kept his word. In the great speeches he afterwards made—speeches which stirred the hearts of all who heard them and which will live forever, his words were so clear and simple that everyone could understand.

A PLAYScene Two

Now older grown our hero see, A kind and tender heart has he. E'en though his life is far from bright Yet strong his will is towards the right, While deep within is purpose strong To rise to greatness and belong Among the few, whose deeds shall bring The whole wide world to wondering.

Scene Two

Time,—About 1829.

Place,—Grocery store in Gentryville, a town near Lincoln's home. (A crowd of farmers about the door.)

First Farmer,—Went huntin' yesterday.

Second Farmer,—What d'ye get?

First Farmer,—Two good fat deer and a turkey. The turkey was a buster, I tell ye. My woman got him on the spit bright and early this morning.

Second Farmer,—Where d'ye go? Down in that stretch of woods to the south?

First Farmer,—Yes, that's the best huntin' place in these parts now. Plenty of panthers there, too! A panther could have jumped down on me any minute, for it was so dark that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I was late gettin' home, and the screams of the critters sent the shivers running down my back.

Second Farmer (half to himself),—It's queer that Abe Linkern never goes huntin'. He'd be a good one at it, too! A surer hand I never knew.

Third Farmer,—Did ye ever hear that story about him when he was a little feller?

(The men gather round and speak together.)

No, what is it?

Third Farmer,—Why, ye see, it was this way. He was in the cabin and happened to look out just as a flock of turkeys was comin' into sight. Quick as a flash he run to the wall and took down his father's rifle. Then he run over to a big crack in the logs. Steady now! He took good aim. Crack goes the rifle, and down falls the best bird in the whole flock. Ye'd a thought that with such a beginning he'd a took to huntin' with a zest.

Fourth Farmer,—No, no, he's too soft-hearted. Can't bear to make even a dumb critter suffer. He'll wrastle with the best of us, and beat us every time when it comes to splittin' rails or cuttin' logs. But huntin' don't seem to be in his dictionary.

First Farmer,—I saw him do a stunt this very mornin'. Three of us was gettin' ready to move a chicken house. We was all takin' long breaths before the start, for it weighed three hundred or more. 'Long comes Abe just about that time. "What are ye waiting fer?" says he. "Waiting fer?" says I. "We're only gettin' ready." At that he give a long chuckle down in his throat, stepped over to the chicken house, lifted it like it was a feather, and walked off with it. He's a tough one, I tell ye.

The Crowd,—Ha, ha, ha! Good for Abe!

Third Farmer,—That's no better than I see him do last week. My neighbor an' I had some posts to move. They was so big, we couldn't budge 'em. "Fetch some sticks," says I, "and call those men over in that field to come and help us." Then along comes Abe. "What's the matter, boys?" says he, laughing like. "Show me where you want them posts." I pointed out the places. With that, he lifts one of the logs up on to his shoulder, easy like, and walks off with it. An' he kep' on till the last one was moved.

(John Baldwin, the blacksmith, enters the store.)

Baldwin,—Did you hear about Abe and that drunken feller the other night?

First Farmer,—Yes, Dave told me.

The Rest,—No, tell us.

Baldwin,—Why, Dave and Abe had been threshin' wheat all day, and in the evening they stopped here on their way home. They stayed till it was pretty late. Then they started off down through that lonely stretch of country. They had gone quite a spell, when Abe says, sudden like, "What's that?" and he pointed to a heap lyin' side of a mud puddle.

The two went up and found that it was a man they both knew,—a good fellow, too, but somehow or other, he'd been and got drunk. There he lay still as death,—didn't know it even when they rolled him over. "He can't stay here," sez Abe. "The night's too cold, and he might freeze before morning."

"Let him lay in the bed that he's made for himself," sez the other, "I'm going home."

But Abe wouldn't hear to it. Leave a helpless man there to freeze to death! That warn't in Abe's makeup. Without saying anythin' more, he bent over and lifted the man up with them long arms of his, and started off with him. He didn't drop him, either, till he reached Dennis Hanks' cabin. Then he built a fire, and set to work rubbin' and warmin' the man up. It was mornin' before he dared to leave him alone. I'm proud to call Abe Linkern a friend of mine.

The Crowd,—Three cheers for honest Abe! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

First Farmer,—How the women folks do like the rail splitter! They say he's the handiest man they ever see. Allus ready to help, from bringing in a pile of wood to rockin' a baby. An' then he's so honest! He wouldn't cheat a chicken out of a pin feather.

Second Farmer,—I reckon they like him all the better because he never touches strong drink. Ye can't get him to. Tain't cause he ain't got spirit, neither. He just won't and that's all there is to it.

Third Farmer,—He's got some queer notions, Abe has. He says that he is goin' to be President of these here U-nited States. Solemn as an owl about it, too!

Fourth Farmer,—They might go better and fare worse. Abe's got a powerful long head on them young shoulders.

The Crowd,—Thet he has.

First Farmer,—There he comes now (calling to him.) Hurry up, Abe, we want one of your stories to warm us up this cold night.

(One after another, as Abe appears.) Evenin', Abe.

First Farmer,—Heerd you was playing speaker down in Crawford's field the other day, Abe. They say as how everybody stopped and gathered round to hear you take off the law argiments that ye heerd down to the county seat. Then old Crawford came out and sent the workmen about their business.

The Crowd,-Ha, Ha, Ha!

(Lincoln rolls his eyes and makes up a face.)

Second Farmer,—Let's have thet song o' yours about Crawford's blue nose. An' don't leave out a single pimple on the ugly old stub.

The Crowd,—Ha, Ha, Ha!

Abe (smiling),—I reckon Crawford would give me his life of Washington if he could change that nose. It was a bad thing for him when he made me work three days for him to pay for that book I had borrowed. To be sure it was hurt a good deal in the rain that beat in through the rafters by my bed, but I meant to be careful of it.

Baldwin,—But a song! not the one about Crawford,—you've sung that enough; let's have the one about Jackson. We're all Jackson men here to-night.

(Lincoln sings in a queer cracked voice.)

"Let auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind And Jackson be our President And Adams left behind."

Second Farmer,—Let's have "Poor Old Ned," Abe. You can do that better. (Laughter again, for everyone knows that Abe cannot keep to a tune.)

Abe,—

"There was an old darky And his name was Ned—

(Captain Larkin, a little fat man, and a great boaster, enters the store.)

Larkins (in a blustering voice),—Fellers, I've got the fastest and best horse in this here town.

The men laugh.

Larkins,—I tell ye, I have the best and fastest horse in this here town. (He sees Lincoln winking at his friends. He steps up in front of him and shouts in a loud voice):