He had grown so tall that she had to throw back her head to look up at him. "I"m right glad for you," she said.
12
[Ill.u.s.tration]
To a boy brought up in the backwoods, the trip down the rivers was one long adventure. Abe sat at the forward oar, guiding the big flatboat through the calm, blue waters of the Ohio, while Allen cooked supper on deck. Afterwards Abe told stories.
After they had reached the southern tip of Illinois, where the Ohio emptied into the yellow waters of the Mississippi, there was little time for stories. The boys never knew what to expect next. One minute the river would be quiet and calm. The next it would rise in the fury of a sudden storm. The waves rose in a yellow flood that poured over the deck. Allen at the back oar, Abe at the front oar, had a hard time keeping the big flatboat from turning over.
At the end of each day, the boys tied up the boat at some place along the sh.o.r.e. One night after they had gone to sleep, several robbers crept on board. Abe and Allen awoke just in time. After a long, hard fight, the robbers turned and fled.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
These dangers only made their adventures seem more exciting. It was exciting, too, to be a part of the traffic of the river. They saw many other flatboats like their own. The biggest thrill was in watching the steamboats, with giant paddle wheels that turned the water into foam.
Their decks were painted a gleaming white, and their bra.s.s rails shone in the sun. No wonder they were called "floating palaces," thought Abe.
Sometimes pa.s.sengers standing by the rail waved to the boys.
Each day of their journey brought gentler breezes, warmer weather.
Cottonwood and magnolia trees grew on the low swampy banks of both sh.o.r.es. The boys pa.s.sed cotton fields, where gangs of Negro slaves were at work. Some of them were singing as they bent to pick the snowy white b.a.l.l.s of cotton. A s.n.a.t.c.h of song came floating over the water:
"Oh, brother, don"t get weary, Oh, brother, don"t get weary, Oh, brother, don"t get weary, We"re waiting for the Lord."
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Abe leaned on his oar to listen. A few minutes later he pointed to a big house with tall white pillars in the middle of a beautiful garden.
"Nice little cabin those folks have," he said drily. "Don"t recollect seeing anything like that up in Pigeon Creek."
"Why, Abe, you haven"t seen anything yet. Just wait till you get to New Orleans."
This was Allen"s second trip, and he was eager to show Abe the sights. A few days later they were walking along the New Orleans waterfront. Ships from many different countries were tied up at the wharves. Negro slaves were rolling bales of cotton onto a steamboat. Other Negroes, toting huge baskets on their heads, pa.s.sed by. Sailors from many lands, speaking strange tongues, rubbed elbows with fur trappers dressed in buckskins from the far Northwest. A cotton planter in a white suit glanced at the two youths from Pigeon Creek. He seemed amused. Abe looked down at his homespun blue jeans. He had not realized that all young men did not wear them.
"Reckon we do look different from some of the folks down here," he said, as he and Allen turned into a narrow street.
Here there were more people--always more people. The public square was crowded. Abe gazed in awe at the Cathedral. This tall Spanish church, with its two graceful towers, was so different from the log meeting house that the Lincolns attended.
Nor was there anything back in Pigeon Creek like the tall plaster houses faded by time and weather into warm tones of pink and lavender and yellow. The balconies, or porches, on the upper floors had wrought iron railings, of such delicate design that they looked like iron lace.
Once the boys paused before a wrought iron gate. At the end of a long pa.s.sageway they could see a courtyard where flowers bloomed and a fountain splashed in the sunshine. Abe turned to watch a handsome carriage roll by over the cobblestones. He looked down the street toward the river, which sheltered ships from all over the world.
"All this makes me feel a little like Sinbad," he said, "but I reckon even Sinbad never visited New Orleans. I sure do like it here."
But soon Abe began to see other sights that made him sick at heart. He and Allen pa.s.sed a warehouse where slaves were being sold at auction. A crowd had gathered inside. Several Negroes were standing on a platform called an auction block. One by one they stepped forward. A man called an auctioneer asked in a loud voice, "What am I offered? Who will make the first bid?"
"Five hundred," called one man.
"Six hundred," called another.
The bids mounted higher. Each slave was sold to the man who bid, or offered to pay, the most money. One field hand and his wife were sold to different bidders. There were tears in the woman"s dark eyes as he was led away. She knew that she would never see her husband again.
"Let"s get out of here," said Abe. "I can"t stand any more."
They walked back to their own flatboat tied up at one of the wharves.
Allen got supper, but Abe could not eat.
"Don"t look like that," said Allen. "Many of the folks down here inherited their slaves, same as their land. Slavery ain"t their fault."
"I never said it was anybody"s fault--at least not anybody who"s living now. But it just ain"t right for one man to own another."
"Well, stop worrying. There"s nothing you can do about it."
"Maybe not," said Abe gloomily, "but I"m mighty glad there aren"t any slaves in Indiana."
Allen stayed on in New Orleans for several days to sell his cargo. It brought a good price. He then sold his flatboat, which would be broken up and used for lumber. Flatboats could not travel upstream. He and Abe would either have to walk back to Indiana, or they could take a steamboat.
"We"d better not walk, carrying all this money," said Allen. "Pretty lonely country going home. We might get robbed."
The steamboat trip was a piece of good fortune that Abe had not expected. He enjoyed talking with the other pa.s.sengers. The speed at which they traveled seemed a miracle. It had taken the boys a month to make the trip downstream by flatboat. They were returning upstream in little more than a week. They were standing together by the rail when the cabins of Rockport, perched on a high wooded bluff, came into view.
"It sure was good of your pa to give me this chance," said Abe. "I"ve seen some sights I wish I hadn"t, but the trip has done me good. Sort of stretched my eyes and ears! Stretched me all over--inside, I mean." He laughed. "I don"t need any stretching on the outside."
Allen looked at his tall friend. They had been together most of the time. They had talked with the same people, visited the same places, seen the same sights. Already Allen was beginning to forget them. Now that he was almost home, it was as if he had never been away. But Abe seemed different. Somehow he had changed.
"I can"t figure it out," Allen told him. "You don"t seem the same."
"Maybe I"m not," said Abe. "I keep thinking about some of the things I saw."
13
[Ill.u.s.tration]
The Lincolns were leaving Pigeon Creek. One day a letter had arrived from John Hanks, a cousin, who had gone to Illinois to live. The soil was richer there, the letter said. Why didn"t Tom come, too, and bring his family? He would find it easier to make a living. Even the name of the river near John"s home had a pleasant sound. It was called the Sangamon--an Indian word meaning "plenty to eat."
"We"re going," Tom decided. "I"m going to sell this farm and buy another. Do you want to come with us, Abe?"
Two years had pa.s.sed since Abe"s return from New Orleans. Two years of hard work. Two years of looking forward to his next birthday. He was nearly twenty-one and could leave home if he wanted to.
"Well, Pa--" he hesitated.
Sarah was watching him, waiting for his answer.