• CHAPTER EIGHT •

THE CLARY GROVE BOYS

After these pleasant daydreams it was a severe blow to find that Offutt’s store was not built. Abe Lincoln turned from the vacant lot on the bluff and looked down at his canoe, tied to a tree. Perhaps he should go back to John Hanks and find work there? But the feeling that his destiny was here persisted. He walked west on the road through New Salem.

A group of men were standing in front of a cabin; as he came near Abe surmised that they were holding an election. In frontier villages where few men could read and write, a voter stated his choice to clerks, who marked the vote on tally sheets. Abe stepped near enough to glance at those sheets— perhaps he could recognize some name Offutt had mentioned. The men stared at the stranger, and one spoke to him.

Bare-fisted boxers pose.

“I see you can read,” this villager remarked; “can you write?” Abe recognized him as the well-dressed man who had offered the auger the day the flatboat hit the dam. “I kin make a few hen tracks,” Lincoln acknowledged, smiling.

“Then will you help us out? I am Mentor Graham, the village schoolmaster. Abram Bergen, the other clerk, had to leave though the election is not quite over. We shall be grateful for your help.”

“I kin try,” Lincoln said. “I’m Abe Lincoln, come to work for Denton Offutt.” Before he had time to say more, two men stepped forward to vote and Abe slipped into Bergen’s place by the table.

The voting soon ended, but men lingered around the table to hear the results and to talk politics. Abe was interested and joined in their discussion. He quoted speeches of Henry Clay and Daniel Webster and expressed opinions about temperance, the need for good roads, and about the Federal government. Graham was astonished. The stranger’s clothing was shabby and his language crude, yet he had considerable knowledge of public affairs. Graham invited Abe to supper, and he had his eighteen-year-old cousin Billy Greene come with them.

During the meal Lincoln learned that Graham was from Kentucky and knew friends of Thomas Lincoln and that he had faith in the future of New Salem.

“I believe this village will grow to be a city,” Graham said. “We are on a good river, and already we have a thriving mill business.”

“I think I have the chanct fer a right smart shake with Offutt,” Lincoln told him.

Graham approved the ambition but winced at the language. An idea for helping his visitor occurred to him.

“We have a debating society here,” he said. “We meet weekly and discuss current questions. I shall be glad to take you with me next week, and if you wish, I shall propose you for membership.”

“I thank you kindly, sir!” Lincoln’s quick acceptance showed Graham that the idea of debate was pleasing.

Abe lingered till late that evening and from Graham learned a good deal about the villagers. Many—like the miller Rutledge, of South Carolina—had brought large families when they came to Illinois; his daughter Ann was the golden-haired girl Abe had seen in the spring. Rutledge had a tavern, too, and was an influential man in the village. Others were single men, like John McNeil who came to New Salem from the East. These unmarried men had come west to make fame and fortune. Some of them were well educated and had small libraries in their log cabins. Dr. Allen was a graduate of Dartmouth College; Jack Kelso was a kind of philosopher and a student of Shakespeare and Burns. Others in the neighborhood were a rough frontier sort like John Clary and his clan from Tennessee. Graham’s information pleased Abe Lincoln. He went home with Billy Greene and for a while boarded with the Greenes.

Offutt arrived a few days later, bringing merchandise. Abe and Offutt built a cabin and arranged the stock of calico, sugar, salt, coffee, tea, bonnets, and hardware on the new shelves— and the store opened for business.

Abe Lincoln found that he liked storekeeping in Illinois even better than in Indiana. On Saturdays he had to work steadily, but he enjoyed the talk of men who stayed around after their buying was finished. On other days he had hours for reading—and he didn’t have to walk miles to borrow books. He made friends with Jack Kelso; and when he found that Mrs. Kelso took in boarders because Jack liked fishing and reading better than earning, he moved to their home.

In the evenings he discussed poetry and drama with Jack and recited long passages that he had memorized. The rhythms of this literature became fixed in his mind along with Bible chapters he had learned earlier.

Soon after the store opened Offutt grew restless and looked around for something new.

“I’m thinking of buying another store,” he boasted, “or maybe a mill or a tavern.”

“You’ve got a store a’ready,” Onstot the cooper reminded him. Onstot was a steady man.

“One store don’t tie me up!” Offutt retorted. “I may buy a steamboat and run a line up here from Cincinnati—that would boom this town!” Men thought him a marvel.

“Anyhow, this store don’t worry me,” Offutt continued, enjoying his own talk. “I’ve got the best clerk a man could have—that Abe Lincoln! He can outrun, outfight, outthrow any man in Sangamon County!” He eyed the crowd daringly.

“Is that so!” Bill Clary exclaimed scornfully. “You have to prove that!”

Young Clary was one of John Clary’s sons; they had a farm three miles southwest of town. The Clarys and their relatives had gathered around them quite a group of strapping fellows who called themselves “Clary Grove Boys.” They were honest men, but rough and quarrelsome, and they respected nothing but physical strength. Jack Armstrong, their leader at the moment, had earned his place by hard hitting. And now Offutt boasted about a new man. The boys resented it.

Clary bet Offutt that Jack Armstrong could lick Abe Lincoln, and a match was arranged for the next Saturday afternoon. Offutt always had an eye for business; a fight would draw men to his store.

After the plans were made, Abe was told; but he did not object.

Saturday the opponents faced each other in a ring marked near the store. Jack was short but powerfully built and confident; Abe was tall and lean. Jack drew in blusteringly, but Abe’s long arms held him off so easily that Jack’s temper flared. He jammed his right foot on Abe’s instep.

The pain infuriated Abe. He grabbed Jack by the back of the neck, held him high, shook him like a dishrag, and tossed him aside. The Clary Grove boys stared, speechless. Was this their bold leader—this man tossed into the dust? They sprang at Abe angrily.

“I’ll fight every man of you—one at a time,” Abe yelled as he backed against the store wall. “Who’s first?”

No one moved.

Jack Armstrong stirred, feebly. The crowd watched as he crawled to his feet, tottered over to Abe, and shook the winner’s hand.

“He won, fair enough,” the fallen leader announced. The gang eyed Abe respectfully. They saw a tall man of some hundred and eighty pounds with unruly black hair, keen eyes, and a long, thin face that could smile all over. Suddenly Bill Clary recalled that Abe was the youth who had so cleverly got the flatboat over Rutledge Dam.

“Smart as a whip, he is, too,” Clary announced. He put out his hand—and Abe Lincoln was accepted as leader.

Winning this match so soon after he came to New Salem was a major event in Abraham Lincoln’s life. Those Clary Grove boys ruled the community; now he was their leader. As they came to know him they discovered some strange facts: he did not smoke, chew, or drink—and he had a passion for reading. Usually they called such a man a “sissy,” but a fighter like Abe was no sissy; so they simply agreed that he “had notions.” He was more honest than a man need be, they thought, when he walked miles to return a few pennies a farmer’s wife had overpaid at the store; and he was strict about fair play.

On the first wave of his popularity he was chosen as a “second” in a fight. The other second, a bantam-sized youth, challenged Abe.

“Sure, I’ll fight ye,” Abe agreed cheerfully. “You chalk up on me where your head comes and that much of me will fight you.” The crowd roared at the challenger’s astonishment, and no more was said about that fight.

But in spite of the clerk’s popularity, Offutt’s store failed early in 1832 and Abe was again out of work. Since he had some money saved and could pay his board, he decided to use the time for reading and wait for something to turn up.

Schoolmaster Graham often invited Abe over in the evenings and they talked about books. But Abe’s pioneer talk fretted him.

“Your language is understood here,” Graham said, “even when you debate. But if you want a larger audience you must improve your vocabulary. Train yourself to say ‘I am not’ instead of ‘I haint.’ Remember the word is ‘for’ and not ‘fer.’ And if you ever wish to write, Abe, you must study grammar.”

Abe liked that idea. “Where could I get a grammar?” he asked.

“I can loan you my book in the evenings,” Graham said. “But I need it at school during the day.” Then he pondered a minute.

“My old friend Vance has a copy of Kirkham’s Grammar, but he lives eight miles from here, in the country.”

“Eight miles is no distance!” Abe laughed, “I thank you for the suggestion.”

He studied Graham’s copy that evening and the next morning tramped out to borrow from Vance. This Kirkham’s Grammar was a difficult book, but Abe went at it with determination. Section by section he memorized that volume. Abe did more than memorize, he got the meaning of each rule. His speech improved, and before long he excelled his teacher in the written expression of his thought.

Lincoln always felt handicapped by what he called “his lack of education.” In this he made the common mistake of thinking that going to school was “education.” In all, he had less than twelve months in schools in Kentucky and Indiana; but in those schools he acquired the basic tools for learning— reading, writing, and simple arithmetic. Afterward he used those tools to learn whatever he needed to know for the work he chose to do. His speeches, writings, and lifework prove that he was well educated, and that anyone who is willing to work and can borrow books can educate himself.

Perhaps about the time of Abe’s twenty-third birthday, someone proposed that he try for election as state representative from Sangamon County. Friends urged him to campaign, and he turned over in his mind a plan of action.

At that time a candidate for the Legislature wrote out his statement of principles in the form of a letter which was then printed in a newspaper or on handbills. Voters were “for” this man or that one, instead of for a party and its platform. Andrew Jackson was President and would run for re-election in the fall; most pioneer voters were “Jackson men.” Abe Lincoln was for Clay. But national issues made little difference when voters elected their state representatives. They would vote for a man they knew and who would help pass laws that would improve Sangamon County conditions.

Lincoln’s letter was a clear statement of his beliefs on subjects important to local voters. The Springfield paper, the Sangamo Journal, printed it on March 9, 1832.

After introducing himself, Lincoln wrote about Sangamon County’s chief need—transportation for getting produce to markets.

Lincoln’s practical suggestion was that the Sangamon River be straightened and deepened, work which he thought would cost less than railroads. He wrote next about fair rates of interest (a big problem for new settlers who must borrow capital), and then about the need for better schools. He ended with a paragraph that was very revealing about himself:

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 of my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their esteem. How far I shall succeed in gratifying 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 independent voters of this 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 back ground, I have been too familiar with disappointments to be very much chagrined.

With this statement back of him, Lincoln planned to get out and campaign for election.