He could already read and write and "cipher." He could make speeches. He could even compose essays and get them printed. He knew that he had a fair capacity for the use of words. But he had latterly made an important discovery. It was that human language, his own in particular, had its laws, and these had been ferreted out and formulated by men of learning, and that no man could be called "educated" while ignorant of them. He went at once to Mr. Graham, the schoolmaster of New Salem, and asked him questions about grammar. "I have a notion to study it."

"If you ever expect to go before the public in any capacity, I think it's the best thing you can do."

"If I had a grammar I'd begin on it right away."

The schoolmaster knew of one that could be had of a man named Vaner, only six miles away, and the rare book was purchased and brought back to town with all the speed in the long limbs of its new owner. Whether or not it would better fit him to come before such a public as that of Clary's Grove, or even New Salem, Abe gave all his spare time to the mastery of it.

There were other books now within reach, and these also were doggedly conquered, one by one. The daylight was burned over them, while the student lay at full length on his counter in the store, waiting for customers, or stretched upon the grass outside in dull seasons, or sitting on a sack of corn, "between grists," at the mill. When evening came, he would go over to the cooper-shop and read there, burning shaving after shaving, one kindled from another, in place of unattainable candles. These were not only scarce but costly, and Abe's wages permitted him no vain extravagances. He was fighting his upward way, inch by inch, with iron resolution. Even the New Salem community could plainly discern how fast his inner man was growing. They were all but proud of him, and the fame of his knowledge spread far and wide, keeping even pace with his reputation for story-telling and for shaking

Jack Armstrong. He could not fail to be popular among those who knew him well, and every fresh arrival from the outside world was sure to be seized upon and made a friend of. Yes, and then subjected to a pumping process, which drew from him, for Abe's benefit, whatever he might know. There is hardly a human being from whom such an inquirer could not learn something, and the power to so gather wisdom grows continually with its use.

Lincoln's first political speech in Illinois had dealt with the problem of the future navigation of the Sangamon River, and now, early in the spring of 1832, a company of gentlemen went so far, in attempting a practical solution, as to charter a small steamboat named the "Talisman," and decide to send her up the stream as high as she could go. Quite a number of questions could be answered by the results of such an experiment: but it was not tried in flood-time or they might have found and reported much more water in the channel. They were wise enough to secure Abe Lincoln's services as pilot, "from Beardstown, up and back." He steered the boat in safety around the many crooks and windings, avoiding all snags and bars and similar perils, until she found her further progress barred by the New Salem mill-dam. If she could not pass that barrier the Sangamon could not be truthfully set down on any map as a navigable stream.

There was but one way of overcoming the difficulty, and enough of the dam was promptly torn away to permit the steamboat to pass. On she went. But there were perils before her even then; for she reached the shallow water above, only to find that it was hourly getting shallower, and that the river was rapidly falling. The experiment had been faithfully tried. The inquirers knew just how far they could take just such a craft up the Sangamon at somewhat low water.

The problem now remaining was how to get her down the river again, and it seemed a serious one; but their pilot managed it for them. He is said to have been paid forty dollars

for that part of his achievement; but he economically walked all the way home from Beardstown to New Salem.

Feat after feat of self-denial, skill, strength, ingenuity, and perseverance were telling fast upon the character and education of Mr. Offutt's brawny " clerk." It was especially well for him, indeed, that he should learn to be a good pilot in dangerous and "falling" waters.

CHAPTER XII.

THE BLACKHAWK WAR.

Lincoln a Volunteer-Army Discipline-Captain Lincoln under Punishment-Going to a New School-Regulars and Volunteers-1832, A.D.

ONE reason why Mr. Offutt could spare his foreman for a steamboat trip up and down the Sangamon was that his various mercantile and milling enterprises were coming to a disastrous end. One after another he was compelled to give them up. Hardly was the "Talisman" safe in the lower river, before her pilot found his occupation as a clerk gone from him; his employer had departed, no man knew whither, and the store was closed.

The mill returned to the management of its owners, and Abe Lincoln was once more utterly adrift.

Those, however, were stirring times in Illinois, for the great war-chief of the Sacs, the terrible Blackhawk, was over the northwestern border with the full strength of his tribe. He was said, also, to have formed a great confederacy, after the manner of King Philip, Pontiac, and Tecumseh, of the Winnebagoes, Foxes, Sioux, Kickapoos, and other tribes. This was true enough; but the whites did not as yet know how completely the savage league had fallen to pieces.

The Governor of Illinois was calling loudly for volunteers to act with the regular forces of the United States in checking the raid of the red men.

There had been a good deal of desultory border warfare during the previous year, and some Illinois troops had taken part in it. It had been of a somewhat bloody nature at several points, but the Indians had finally retreated, and had promised, at the

end of the campaign, to behave themselves more peaceably in future. Their promises were not made to be kept any longer than until presents could be received and spring should come again. They had broken them now, and it was necessary that they should have a sharp lesson administered to them.

The military experience of Abraham Lincoln had been begun for him in the fall of 1831, when, at a militia-muster at Clary's Grove, the "boys" had chosen him captain of the company. He was not present when elected, but accepted the honor thrust upon him, made a speech of thanks, and served during the muster. He afterwards said that if he had not been down the river in Offutt's flatboat in the spring of 1831, he should have surely then enlisted among the volunteers then called out, and gone to the frontier instead of into the store and mill.

Now there was something on hand more serious than a mere "muster," for nearly the same men were organizing a company for active service. The choice of a captain became a question of importance. There were but two candidates, Lincoln and a man named Kirkpatrick, owner of the sawmill at which the logs had been made into planks for Mr. Offutt's flatboat. There was an old grudge between them, beginning in that connection, and the rivalry ran high until the votes were counted, when it was found that Lincoln had beaten his competitor "out of sight." It was no wonder, for the men who had voted were mostly the same who had stood around the ring and seen him shake Jack Armstrong, and they had clear notions of the qualities required by a man whose duty it would be to keep order in their camp. He must have the necessary muscles and fighting pluck to whip any rough in his company, or he was no captain for them. No doubt it was a good escape for Mr. Kirkpatrick, the Clary's Grove boys themselves being judges.

Neither the young captain nor his mutinous, disorderly recruits had the slightest prophetic idea how needful it was that Abraham Lincoln should be taught by practical experience the