"Who said it was a 'he'?"
The crowd laughed.
"What kind is she?" Buck corrected.
"Well," answered the youth as if weighingthe matter, "she ain't nothing extra on looks, but she can stand up under as much hard work as any hoss in these parts."
"How old is she?"
"I dunno to a day—not very old."
"Stand without hitchin'?"
"Never's been hitched to anything in her life."
"Saddle hoss, I take it. Ain't any mustang is it?"
"Not a drop of mustang in the critter, I swear it."
"Ain't blind in one eye, is she?"
"No."
"How's her legs?"
"Can't lie partner. She's stiff in the legs."
"Stiff in the legs, eh? How about her teeth?"
"Haven't counted them."
"Ever had the botts?"
"Not as I know of."
"Or winded?"
"Not since I've had her."
"Want to swap hosses?" Buck asked.
"What you got?" Abe Lincoln asked with interest.
"I got one what'll stand hitched. I'm goin' to be honest as you and tell you my hoss has stiff legs. From what I git, my hoss is just about such a hoss as your hoss. How'll you swap, sight unseen?"
Abe Lincoln aked a few questions which proved beyond a doubt to Buck Thompson that the lanky youth was as green as he looked on the horse-trading proposition, and he was delighted both for the stakes involved and the effect of his deal on the Clary Grove Boys, when Abe Lincoln agreed to the trade.
"Where's your hoss at?" Buck inquired.
"Out back of Offutt's store. Where's yourn?"
"He's to home—but I'll bring him."
"Any rush?" Lincoln inquired. "Morning's not far off."
But Buck had no notion of taking chances on letting the horse-trader consider over night. He insisted on winding up the trade in the bright light of the moon in front of Offutt's store. The crowd agreed to be present, and immediately afterward, with singing and loud talking, the Clary Grove gang took their way to New Salem to Offutt's store. Buck Thompson went afterhis horse, and Abe Lincoln disappeared in the shadows of the store to find his.
Buck was the first to arrive. Not even the moonlight could cast any redeeming qualities on the beast that hobbled after him. The crowd looked it over and laughed uproariously. Buck grinned with satisfaction at the sight-unseen trade he was about to make and questioned half fearfully if the greenhorn would stand by his agreement.
The appearance in the distance of a tall and shadowy figure approaching with long, easy strides was not reassuring. Certainly he was neither leading nor driving a horse. The company looked. As he came nearer they saw he carried something. Its shadow blended with that of his body.
"He's got his hoss under his arm or on his back," one observed.
Buck was looking anxiously.
"Bet two to one it's a goat," Jo Kelsy said.
This sounded good to Buck. "Goat!" he said with evident pleasure. Then they looked again. The next minute he cleared the last lap of shadow and came into the light in the open space.
There was a moment of impressive silence.
"My hoss is this kind—one of the most useful animals in this neck of the woods," and he placed a saw-horse before them.
There was a moment of impressive silence, then the angry voice of Buck Thompson.
"You're a liar," he cried, greatly angered by the roar of laughter that had greeted the speech.
A dead hush fell on the company. A fight seemed the next excitement. Every eye was on Lincoln.
"Don't get riled up," he said good naturedly, "especially after I told you I was tellin' the truth. Didn't I tell you her legs was stiff?"
"Yeh," roared 'Buck—"and you told me she had two good eyes—eh, boys?" and he turned to the crowd standing close about.
"Easy now," Abe Lincoln remonstrated. "I didn't say she had two good eyes. You asked if she was blind in one eye, and I said 'No, she ain't blind in no eye.'"
"You said she had all her teeth," Buck challenged.
"Naw, what I said was, 'she hasn't never lost no teeth, far as I know.' Can you see any place where they have come out?"
Clearly the new clerk had the best of the trade. Buck Thompson stood to his bargain. The horse was passed to Lincoln. He looked it over. Something in the ungainly figure and the big-headed horse brought a smile. Yet they waited. What would he do next—or say?
"Partner," he said to Buck after the examination, "I wouldn't know what use to make of this here critter. I can't make no sight-unseen proposition, but I'd give you two bits for my own hoss back."
CHAPTER VI
"FIXIN FER THE ANGELS"
Offutt'snew store under the management of Abe Lincoln came to be, almost immediately, the chief point of interest in the village.
Business was never so rushing that the genial, long-legged new-comer could not find time for a friendly greeting or a new story.
Jo Kelsy, famed as the best Shakespeare scholar New Salem boasted, soon discovered a kindred spirit in Abe Lincoln, and was delighted to find in him a pupil so hungry to get acquainted with Bill Shakespeare.
Mentor Graham, the Scotch schoolmaster, dropped into the store because he soon discovered that, although the youth who had assisted him on election day had had no opportunity of going to school, he was far more advanced in general knowledge than any pupil in his school, and the fact that Abe Lincoln wanted to study grammar with him, and after a while higher branches, pleased him.
Even Doctor Allen, the busiest and most conscientious Predestinarian in SangamonCounty, cultivated the acquaintance of the Lincoln youth, and he soon discovered that the uncommon young fellow, who seemed to be everybody's friend, was not given to social drink, and this pleased Doctor Allen, who boldly preached that liquor was poison and stood for its total abstinence.
The Clary Grove Boys visited the store, and when several of them happened in at the same time, the laughter and boisterous talk could be heard the length of New Salem.
Ann Rutledge had not yet been at the new store. She had heard from it, however, through her brother Davy, two years younger than herself, and her half-grown sister, known as "Sis Rutledge," both having formed the acquaintance of Abe Lincoln and both having immediately become his staunch admirers.
Ole Bar was in the store one afternoon when Davy came in.
"Davy," Abe Lincoln said, "see here"; and putting three long fingers gently into his pocket he drew out a handful of tiny rabbits. "Their mother got killed. I put the poor little things in my pocket. Know anybody that will take care of them?"
Ole Bar opened his good eye and listened.
"Sure, Ann, she'll do it. Ann Rutledge takes care of blind cats, lame dogs, lousy calves, birds With broke wings, and all such things."
Abe Lincoln had placed the rabbits carefully in his hat and handed it to Davy.
"Want them back?" the boy questioned as he turned toward the door.
"No—but hurry back with my hat. I'm goin' out with Kelsy while he fishes, and read about a Jew who wanted a pound of flesh."
The expression on Ole Bar's small eye was one of concentrated disgust.
"Men's not what they used to be," he observed, chewing violently.
"I reckon not," Abe Lincoln observed.
"These times they wear whiskers on their upper lip, and breeches buttoned up the fore, but I don't see as it's give them any more wits."
Abe Lincoln did not answer this, but asked a question.
"Who sings about these diggin's? It's some woman who has a way of her own."
"All wimmin sings; wimmin birds sings, and wimmin bull frogs sings, and human wimmin sings. But whether they be scaled or featheredor diked out in calico and combs, their singin' is to git the men of their kind. Take the advice of Ole Bar, my long-legged son, Abry Linkhorn, and let all wimmin kind alone. Furthermore, don't try to start no love-makin' with Ann Rutledge and blame it onto rabbits. I've heard said Ann Rutledge can outsing a bird. If she can, it's for John McNeil. John McNeil, he's worth ten thousand dollars—so they say. Hain't this worth singin' for?"
"The one I'm talking about wasn't singin' for any man's money."
"How do you know?"
"It wasn't that kind of a song."
Ole Bar laughed. "Sonny," he said, "you're as green as you look. But why don't you go up to the meetin' what Windy Batts's started? All the singers will be there. Windy's trying to scare the devil out of his own den by his fierce preachin'. Last night he called the whole Clary Grove tribe by name and told them the devil was goin' to pepper them with burnin' fiery sulphur in chunks as big as Rutledge's Mill forever and aye unless they crawled up on the rock of ages. They'll be going to meetin' theirselves right soon, and if he don't know any better sensethan readin' cusses at them out of the Holy Scriptures and pointin' the finger of scorn at them before the people, they'll learn him some."
It was this same evening Abe Lincoln decided to go to Clary Grove in search of Kelsy, from whom he wanted to borrow the Shakespeare. The Grove Boys were in council. An indignation meeting was being held. Kit Parsons had just been quoting Windy Batts, who had the night before consigned those Clary Grove sinners root and branch to burn forever, and it had been just about decided that he, and the horse he had purchased to start on an itinerary after his New Salem meeting, should be treated to a coat of tar and feathers.
"That deer-faced hypocrit tells how God sent his angels to git Daniel out of the lion's den, how he sent angels to git them three fool Jews out of the fiery furnace. He says them kind of angels guard the Hard Shells, saves them from their enemies and gits them out of tight places. We're needin' some angels in this section. Let's coax them down. Let's anoint this belly-aching coward with hot tar and feathers—both him and his horse, till we make him look like the buzzard he is. Then we'll set byand see how long it takes them angels to git the feathers picked off."
A laugh had followed this speech. It was about this time Abe Lincoln appeared.
"Howdy!" he said in his most friendly manner.
They returned his greeting, but it was evident he was not wanted. They, however, asked him for a suggestion as to how best to punish "a moon-eyed pole cat that hain't nothin' better to do than stir up a stink about hell fire and brimstone, and call out the names of them picked by the devil to supply the roasts."
"I wouldn't take it to heart about his fiery talk. He can't hurt God with his spittin' and sputterin', and so long as God's all right the rest of us needn't worry," Lincoln said, before answering the request asked. "As to punishin' a 'Moon—faced pole cat,' I'd plug him up in some tight corner, poke sin out of him—and he'd punish hisself gentlemen—punish hisself."
Abe Lincoln got the book and went away. After he had gone, the Clary boys put their heads together, and before they had separated for the night, the tar and feathers plan had been temporarily abandoned.
CHAPTER VII
"SIC 'EM, KITTY"
Theafternoon following his rather unwelcome visit to Clary Grove, Abe Lincoln was invited by Kit Parsons to attend religious services that night. From the manner of the invitation, the storekeeper gathered that there might be something interesting on foot, and he decided to go.
Some changes had been made in the meeting-place since the gathering of the year before. At the former time Satan had moved the dogs, so the elder explained, to crowd under the exhorter's stand and engage in riotous disagreement. In an endeavor to chew each others ears and gnaw holes in each others hides, they had bumped their backs onto the rude floor underneath the preacher's feet, and in other ways raised a disturbance.
To prevent a repetition of this disorderly conduct on the part of the dogs, the hiding-place under the stand had been made proof against all intruders by the use of stobs driven so close that not even a shadow could creep between.
It was in this long-time rendezvous of dogs that a couple of the Clary Grove gang seemed interested, as between services they strolled several times past the pulpit end of the arbor.
That evening, in the shadowy gloom cast by the arbor roof, a couple of men might have been seen, had the dark been closely scrutinized, moving softly about.
Just what they were doing was not apparent. They seemed to have a barrel close by and a long trough of some kind.
But nobody paid any attention to these quiet two. All interest was centered in Windy Batts, who in a trumpet voice was giving out the words of a song which all who knew him were certain would be sung with great unction and fervor.
He was reading the lines from a hymn-book. At the end of every second line he gave the pitch, whereupon all sang in many keys, but with united fervor.
Into a world of ruffians sent,I walk on hostile ground;While human bears, on slaughter bent,And raving wolves surround.
Between each two lines he shouted, "God have mercy on them Clary Grove sinners! Themravening wolves! Strike them human bears down!"
Then the hymn went on:
The lion seeks my soul to slay,In some unguarded hour;And waits to tear his sleeping prey,And watches to devour.
"God save us from them Clary Grove lions that seek to devour."
The movements in the shadows just outside the arbor continued, but nobody noticed. The exhorter, calling on God and all the holy angels to witness the truth of his sayings, was drawing a graphic comparison between the righteous and the sinner, especially of that most fallen and hopeless sinner, the Clary Grove sinner.
After the discourse, which was thundered out with tremendous force, the first altar-song was announced,
If you get there before I do,I'm bound for the land of Ca-na-yan;Look out for me, I'm coming, too,I'm bound for the land of Ca-na-yan;
When this popular song got well underway, the woods for miles around rang with the refrain. The altar filled with sinners who fell in the dust, and with saints who whispered in theirears full directions for planting their feet firmly on the old ship Zion, and with shouters, among whom was Phoebe Jane Benson.
Ann Rutledge and Nance Cameron on one side of the arbor, and Abe Lincoln and Jo Kelsy on the other, had watched Phoebe Jane taking her combs out and in other ways preparing for the shouting. Ann, remembering what Mrs. Benson had said about hugging, was prepared to watch for developments as Phoebe Jane, with arms flying, began her religious exercise.
When the mourners were prostrating themselves in the dust, one of the dark figures in the shadowy background whispered, "Tickle her up and then run"; and as he reached a long pole into the enclosure under the exhorter's feet he said, "Sic 'em, kitty!" and the two were off.
Just as the first sinner was saved and the shouters were getting well warmed up, a heavy and most unreligious odor suddenly pervaded the air.
The front row of mourners, with their faces in the dust, nearest the exhorter's stand, noticed it first as it came like a puff from the infernal regions just pictured by Windy Batts. Lifting their heads, these mourners looked about, withfacial expressions none too pious, to see what had smitten them. Next the shouters got the full force of the growing odor. Immediately their shouts turned to groans, and they put their hands over their noses. By this time the mourners were on their feet. This sudden change from the dust of humiliation to the erect poise of saved souls, ordinarily denoted a conversion. At this time, however, the eye of suspicion cast on every man by every other man, together with the sudden and violent outbreak of snorting and spewing, gave evidence of something different from spiritual birth.
When Windy Batts, who at this first moment was engaged in holding Phoebe Jane in the close embrace of brotherly love, was struck by the force of the permeating odor, he pushed Phoebe Jane from him, giving her a look both questioning and unsanctified.
A moment, and he understood. Springing onto his high platform, he cried in trumpet tones, "The devil is at his old game! A burning, fiery trial is about to test our faith. Sometimes afflictions come like lice, mites, boils, fits. But the worst has been reserved for these later days, and now doth God afflict his people with a skunk.Satan abounds on every hand. The most eternal and ding-blasted stink ever turned loose on the sanctuary of the Lord is now in our midst. Let a committee of fearless men with good noses volunteer to locate the spot where this varmint of the pit is hiding."
The source of the odor was soon located. About this time, out in the darkness of the woods, was heard a man's voice shouting:
The devil's dead.Oh! smell his stink;Killed by the power of Windy.
Then a rooster was heard crowing—the crow repeating the words. Then a cat yowled—and a dog growled—and a goose quacked, all sending out the same message about the devil's death, and the manner thereof.
Here was insult added to injury, for while the exhorter might have forgiven God and the angels for the horrible ordeal they were passing through, he could never forgive the Clary Grove crowd.
During the excitement John McNeil had joined Ann Rutledge and Nance Cameron.
"It's those Clary Grove rowdies," John McNeil said. "They're a bad lot, and there willbe murderers in the bunch if they do not change their ways. For this they should be put in jail."
"Windy Batts said very unkind things about them," Ann observed.
"And didn't say half bad enough. I'm sorry Abe Lincoln joined in with them. He was in their camp last night. Like as not he hatched this whole plot."
"I can't see why he should want to do a thing like that," Ann said.
"You don't? Don't you know the whole Clary Grove gang is opposed to religion? Do you suppose this railsplitter would choose their kind if he wasn't an opposer, too?"
"But he's not a railsplitter now—he's Offutt's clerk."
"He's no real clerk and never will be. Once a railsplitter, always a railsplitter."
"Maybe so, but even then, John, it's no disgrace to be an honest railsplitter—and I'm going to ask Nance if he's an opposer."
"What difference does it make to you whether he's an opposer or not?"
"I always like to think the best of everybody, John," Ann answered, "and it's an awful sin to be an opposer of religion."
CHAPTER VIII
THE TEST
TheClary Grove gang were gathered in council. A grave matter was to be decided and there seemed a division of opinion as to the qualifications of Abe Lincoln for becoming a member of the brotherhood. Personally no man had an unfriendly feeling. In fact some of them liked him. But there were certain qualifications which it was not certain he possessed.
The horse-trade with Buck was discussed. Had he gotten the best of Buck? Several contended that he should have kept the horse and would have done so had he not been afraid of the gang. Others were of the opinion that he did not want the horse, and several declared him a good fellow for knowing where to quit joking.
There were graver considerations than this, however.
"Ever see a man that had any guts totin' rabbits around in his pockets?" Ole Bar questioned sharply. "I seen a feller once that packed a couple of wild cats about with him—but rabbits—rabbits——" and language failed to express his disgust.
"And he don't drink no whiskey."
"And Jo Kelsy says he never carries a gun."
"Don't never go gamin'?"
"No," answered Jo Kelsy, "he ain't never been no hunter."
"Hain't never killed nothin'?" Ole Bar questioned in amazement.
"Not just fer fun. Once he killed a pant'er what dropped on him without saying nothin'. He ketched it around the neck and choked its eyes out and skinned it. He said he wouldn't have bothered it if it hadn't acted so nasty and climbed his frame without warnin'."
There was silence. No such case had come up for discussion. Here was a young giant who could strangle a panther—perhaps a bear. Yet he didn't bother them if they let him alone, and he carried new-born rabbits in his pocket, and didn't drink whiskey.
"Offutt's got him put up against any man in Sangamon County; says he can out-run, out-wrestle, out-throw, out-whip the best man that can be put up. He's bragged till folks has forgot about Jack Armstrong of Clary Grove."
The eyes of the company turned to Jack Armstrong, the champion wrestler of Sangamon County. Built square as an ox, his mighty muscle gave the suggestion of the monarchy of muscular force. Added to his force of muscle was unusual quickness, and added to this, as the Clary Grove crowd knew, was the art of a trick that was held permissible by the gang as a last resort in holding championship of the county.
"What about it, Jack?" Kit Parsons asked.
"I'll wrastle him."
"He's different from anything you've gone up against. Jo Kelsy saw him lift a whiskey barrel and let a feller drink out of the bung hole one day when he was in the store."
"The Lord's truth," Jo answered solemnly.
"And Buck Thompson says he histed a chicken coop that weighed five or six hundred pounds and set her down on the other side of the yard, nobody lendin' a hand."
"The Lord's truth," Buck answered.
"And Ole Bar says they was having some sort of a contest down at the mill when he first come here—some sort of a stone-moving tussle—and Abe Lincoln let them strap him like a hoss and moved a thousand pounds. Hey, Ole Bar?"
"I ain't sayin' nothin', only I seen it done."
"I can whip any man on Sangamon River." It was Armstrong who spoke.
This was final and gave great satisfaction. The crowd shook hands with the champion, and one of the number was appointed to bear the challenge to Abe Lincoln, early the next morning.
When the young clerk was approached on the matter of the fight he declined. "What's the use of this wooly-rousin', anyhow? I never did see no sense in tuslin' and cuffin'. Grown-up men might be in better business."
But Offutt, satisfied that he could win the contest urged him on, and as there seemed nothing else to do, Lincoln accepted, and the day was set.
The news spread over town and around the country. Jack Armstrong the long-time champion was to meet the giant youth known as flat-boat Abe, the railsplitter.
Early in the game Offutt and Bill Clary bet ten dollars on their respective men. Lesser lights bet whiskey, knives, tobacco, and even caps and coats. The better element entered no protest, and the Clary Grove kind from Wolf Creek openly exulted.
During the growing interest Lincoln seemedto pay no attention to the matter nor cared to discuss it. He said he had a good feeling for the whole bunch and believed his antagonist to be a brave and square wrestler.
"Clear the street of weak things," Bill Clary had advised, the morning of the match, which was taken to mean that there might be a gang fight instead of a wrestling match.
Even before the appointed hour the town was out and lined up opposite Offutt's store. Doctor Allen, who had formed a warm friendship for the young clerk and who was opposed to fighting, was there. The school-teacher was there; Clary Grove to a man was present with several from Wolf Creek. John Rutledge and Cameron stopped by to look on. The women folks were on hand, for here was something that promised to be as interesting as a shouting match at a camp-meeting. And the girls were there, Nance Cameron, Ann Rutledge, Phoebe Jane Benson and Ellen Green, keyed up with the excitement that comes to the young female of any species when the males of like kind give an exhibition of primitive strength. Nor did John McNeil remain away. He even stood by a Clary Grove leader to see the show.
Many glances were cast at the store inside of which Abe Lincoln was seen talking to a crowd, and laughing as good naturedly as if the whole town were not feverishly waiting for him to come out and face the broad-shouldered, iron-muscled man, who as calmly awaited the event, surrounded by his friends under a tree near the side of the store.
At the appointed time Abe Lincoln came slowly out and took his way in an unhurried sort of a shamble across to the side of the store. Seeing him, Jack Armstrong emerged from his friends. The tall youth extended his hand and shook in a friendly grasp. Then he pulled off his hat and pitched it aside, opened his shirt and turned it back, hitched up his breeches, tossed back his mop of black hair, and the wrestle was on.
A cheer went up as they went the first round.
Armstrong had entered the contest with the determination of a speedy finish. He knew the art. It was evident from the beginning that Lincoln was not a skilled wrestler. Indeed he seemed only defending himself, which he did so easily that he was not given full credit for it.
Armstrong gave him some blows. They might as well have fallen on a steel trap. Lincolngave no hard blows; evidently his intention was not to inflict harm. Through the early portion of the wrestle he was entirely good-natured. But not so with Armstrong. He was working hard. He was not making progress. His backers and friends were urging him on, while cheers sounded each time his wily antagonist escaped what seemed to be a well-directed, sledge-hammer blow.
When the contest had been on some minutes it became apparent to the crowd and to Armstrong that he must use different tactics, or the wily, good-natured Abe Lincoln would keep him fighting for a week.
Armstrong now undertook his trick.
The moment he did so the eager crowd saw an instantaneous change in the young giant.
The good-natured expression on his face was swept aside by a wave of such anger as transformed him from a citizen into a fighter. The mild and friendly light in his gray eye made way for a fire that gave it a strange, shining appearance. The slight stoop of the body disappeared and the tall figure towered high and tense, for a passing instant. Then he threw out his powerful arm and just as his antagonisthoped to take him from his feet, he felt his neck caught in the grasp of something as unrelenting as a steel trap. Tighter the powerful fingers wrapped about his neck. He felt himself forced away from the man he would defeat by trickery.
It was done in a moment. The crowd saw Abe Lincoln holding Jack Armstrong at arm's length and shaking him as a cat would shake a kitten, as he shouted in white wrath "Play fair, will ye? If you win,win. If you lose,lose—but do it like a man! Play fair, will ye?" and again he shook him as if in an effort to shake the words from him.
For a moment there was an ominous silence.
"He's a bar! He's a bar!" shouted Ole Bar. Whatever this meant was uncertain. The gang closed in. They seemed coming to the rescue of their champion.
With the breath half-choked out of him, Armstrong felt himself pulled along. Abe Lincoln backed against the store wall. He released Armstrong, shouting, "I'm ready! I'll meet anybody in a fair tussle, but no tricks go with Abe Lincoln!"
Again there was a moment of silence. The gang looked at Armstrong, then the crowdcheered. The gang fell back. The next moment something unexpected happened. Jack Armstrong approached, held out his hand and, turning to the crowd, said, "Boys, Abe Lincoln's the best fellow that ever broke into this gang."
The white anger faded from the face of the tall giant as quickly as it had come. The fire passed from his eyes. His homely face was lit by a kindly smile. He hitched up his trousers and pushed back his hair. Then with his hand warmly grasped around that of Armstrong he said, "Hand-shakes are better than cuffin's. It's friends we are."
A shout went up, the women shouting with the men. Among those who cheered most heartily was the group of girls with whom Ann Rutledge stood. So interested had she been in the climax of the contest she had not noticed that John McNeil had moved to a place beside her. She did not know it until, in the midst of her most enthusiastic hand-clapping, she turned and met his eye. Her face was bright with pleasure at the outcome. She was laughing and cheering. When she met his eye she knew he was not pleased.
"I told you he'd be one of the gang," McNeil said.
"But he plays fair."
"I never could understand why women and girls like the fighting kind, the rowdy kind—the kind that has roustabout ways, and that has no business, and opposes religion."
"But are you sure he opposes religion?"
"These fighting roustabouts generally do. Now don't get mixed. I'm not saying Abe Lincoln's not a good fellow. He's good enough of his kind, and I like him. But for women and girls that's religious, he wouldn't be my kind."
"I'm going to find out if he opposes religion," Ann said.
"Going over to the store to see him?" John questioned.
"No; I would so like to talk with him just once. But I won't because——"
"Why?" he asked, looking at her.
"Because, John, some way I feel you would not like it. I'm promised to you, and I play fair."
He made no answer, but some way Ann felt that her statement was not altogether satisfactory to John McNeil.
CHAPTER IX
"THOU SHALT NOT COVET"
Thewrestling match, that proved the championship of Sangamon River, established Abe Lincoln with his love of peace and his unlimited reserve of physical power to enforce it, as the peace-maker of New Salem.
The following day John Rutledge called at the store.
John Rutledge, with his partner Cameron, was the founder of New Salem. Some few years before, he had come from Kentucky with his family, bought a farm a few miles to the west, built a mill at New Salem, and opened a store and a tavern.
Within a year, ten log houses had been added to the original two. A cobbler and a blacksmith had shops. Then a few more houses were built, and a cooper mill where crude barrels and kegs were made.
John Rutledge, a descendant of the famous Rutledge family of the Carolinas, possessed the manly qualities of his ancestors in full measure, and pioneer life had by no means obliteratedthose instincts which make generous friends and progressive citizens.
Mr. Rutledge was also a firm believer in education as the foundation for the future greatness of the new Western country as well as the success of the individual, and it was largely due to his efforts that the Scotch schoolmaster, Mentor Graham, was among the first settlers.
John Rutledge had been into the new store before to look around. Once he had tarried to hear a story. But he was a busy man and had as yet formed no special acquaintance with the much-discussed Abe Lincoln.
This visit was for the purpose of getting acquainted. After Rutledge had warmly congratulated the ungainly clerk, on his insistence on fair play, they sat down to talk, and the conversation turned to a discussion of the widely renowned circuit-rider, Peter Cartwright, who was expected to hold a wonderful meeting in the vicinity of Springfield during the month of September.
Abe Lincoln had heard of Peter Cartwright, the eccentric Methodist exhorter, who was born in a Kentucky cane-brake and rocked in a bee-gum cradle, and could tell many stories about him.
The outcome of this short visit was an invitation to the clerk to visit at Rutledge Inn and tell some of the Cartwright stories.
Rutledge Inn was the largest building in the town except the mill. None of the other homes had more than two rooms, some only one. Rutledge Inn had four rooms and a sort of porch made by an extension of roof over a hardly packed, cleanly swept, dirt floor. It was here Mentor Graham, Doctor Allen, John Rutledge, William Green and other of the intelligent citizens gathered to discuss news, matters of education, religion and politics.
Quite pleased with his invitation, Abe Lincoln went to the Inn and found in addition to the family, Mentor Graham and Doctor Allen.
It was a night in late August. The stars twinkled above the dark outlines of the trees that crested the bluff. The one road of New Salem, that wound its way down the hill, lay like a gray ribbon and log houses made the darker spots that at irregular intervals marked it. Occasionally the call of a night bird sent ripples of wave-melody onto the stillness, or sometimes the tinkle of a bell stirred the ocean of the night silence, while the fall of the dam water sent out its rhythm in never-ending cadences.
The discussion turned to religion, a most fruitful topic of argument, for Mentor Graham was a Hard Shell and Doctor Allen was a Predestinarian. This night there was the uncommon Abe Lincoln to be heard from. Stories of Peter Cartwright were first on the program, and from these the conversation turned to a discussion of religion in particular and its uses to mankind.
"One of the best uses of religion," Dr. Allen said, "is to cast out fear. Medicine won't work when fear is present and there's been many a man scared to death. I was called out once to see a child who had been bitten by a rattlesnake. She died and her father nearly lost his mind. Later he got bit in the night by something—a spider, I think. He was sure it was a rattlesnake. There was no need of the man dying, but he did die—actuallyfrightened to death. It's an awful condition for a soul to be in that fears eternal punishment for sin. Religion takes away this fear."
"Just what is religion?" asked Abe Lincoln. "From what I've been able to gather, it's preachin' purgatory and damnation till you get up a panic, offerin' the mercy of God as a way of escape, and then takin' up a collection for thegood advice you have given—is this religion?"
The men laughed.
"I may be off," Lincoln continued, "but looks to me like there wouldn't be so much need of gettin' the fear out of folks if the fear of hell wasn't first preached into them."
"Don't you believe in hell?" Mentor Graham asked.
"Can't say I do."
"But you believe in God, I am sure."
"Yes—only a fool has said in his heart there is no God."
"But the same authority that teaches God teaches hell," Doctor Allen said.
"Not to my way of thinking it don't," Lincoln answered. "'The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament shows his handiwork,' the Book tells me. But I can't see how the heavens declare the glory of hell nor its necessity either."
"But how can God punish the unrighteous without a hell? Can't you see that by taking hell out of the Bible you destroy its value as an inspired book, and where else can one learn of God?"
"Have you forgotten the heavens and the stars? And then there are other things, too, thattell of God besides the Bible. Did you ever watch a dirt-dauber? Know how they work, do you? Builds his nest and puts in his egg. The young one is not goin' to get out until it can fly, so it must have food. The parent goes in search. Here comes a worm. Good food and enough to last until the young dauber is ready to wing its way. But there is a difficulty. If the dauber kills the worm and puts it in, it will be rotten as Heck before the young is ready to get out. What happens? The dauber sticks its stinger into a certain spot where it paralyzes the worm—knocks him out, so to speak, without killin' him. Then he puts him in the cell with the young, seals him and leaves. What I say is—where does the mud-dauber get his knowledge? Who told him to deaden that food without killin' it? Who shows him, or her, just the right point to stick in that sting? To me it has always seemed that any Creator that can plan this way has more than horse-sense. But to make folks like the Book says, in his own likeness and image, and then get mad at them and roast them alive a million or so years cause they can't swallow Hard Shell religion or gulp down Predestinarianism, looks like God hain't planned things as well as a mud-dauber. MaybeI'm lackin' myself, but I got to turn loose of God or hell one, and for my purpose I'm choosin' to hang on to God, and I somehow got a feelin' He's not goin' back on me. Twouldn't be fair—and God plays fair, gentlemen—God plays fair."
There was a moment of silence. Then John Rutledge said, "Davy, get a jug from the cellar. Sis, bring the water pitcher, glasses and sugar."
As the boy and girl arose Lincoln turned slightly. He had not noticed before that the daughter of the house had joined the group.
As he saw her now in the semi-darkness she looked like some fair creature of another world. He had heard that Ann Rutledge was the prettiest girl in town. She had passed his store and been pointed out to him. He had been told she was engaged to marry John McNeil who was the most settled young fellow in town and already worth ten thousand dollars. But neither of these news items had interested him sufficiently to take his attention from the story he had happened to be telling or hearing when she had passed.
As his eyes turned toward her, he saw she was leaning forward as if not to lose a word, and gazing at him intently.
He changed the glance of his eye to give her a chance to look another way. Then he turned his glance on her again. As he did so there came to him a revelation. Here was the pilgrim. How did he know it? He could not tell, yet, as surely as she sat there in the dim light, as surely as his eyes were resting on her golden head and fair face, he knew it.
Mentor Graham and Doctor Allen had launched a spirited discussion on baptism. Abe Lincoln did not join them. He turned his eyes again toward the girl. In the half-light he could not see the expression of her face, but her face was turned toward him and he was conscious she was thinking of him. She turned away as if embarrassed, but no sooner had he shifted than the dark eyes again turned toward the heroic figure, a figure like a bronze, the profile of his face half-Roman and half-Indian. His head rested on a neck of cords and muscle which stood straight out from a turn-down collar.
As irrestible as the pole draws the magnet, the glances of the two were drawn toward each other again, and in the dark each felt the meeting of this glance. Then Ann Rutledge got up and went away.
Abe Lincoln thought of the bird he had heard the night he sat on the ladder—the night the voice had called to him from the heights. He smiled.
The next morning Abe Lincoln was at the store early, waiting to see McNeil pass. When he had heard half a dozen times before that Ann Rutledge was engaged to marry McNeil, the words had been as idle gossip. Nor had he given McNeil any special attention. Now all was different. With keen eye and feverish desire he waited to pass judgment.
As the young man passed, the watching Lincoln felt himself moved by some tremendous impulse of destruction, a destruction that would annihilate this man from the face of the earth as completely as though he had never existed.
As he stood in the doorway of the rude frontier store, no Sinaitic thunder roared its disapproval of this primitive animal impulse. But he heard, instead, the gentle voice of a woman who had long lain sleeping under the tangle of a forsaken wildwood—a voice that had read to him from an open book by the light of a pine torch fire, "Thou shalt not covet."
CHAPTER X
THE MYSTERIOUS PIG
Oneday a poverty-stricken and dispirited woman, whom Abe Lincoln had not before seen, entered his store to buy a few candles and a small quantity of molasses.
As she went out the storekeeper was informed that she was the wife of a notorious drunkard, known throughout the settlement as "Snoutful Kelly," who lived in a miserable shack out near Muddy Point.
After the woman had gone, in casting up his accounts, Abe Lincoln found himself with a few pennies more than he should have, and, after puzzling over the small excess, he discovered that he had overcharged the wife of Snoutful Kelly.
Though it was yet early, he closed the store and at once set out toward Muddy Point to return the woman's change.
The shack he found the family living in was not the worst he had ever seen, and he himself had once lived in one nearly as bad. He had not expected, however, to find such a home near the thrifty settlement of New Salem.
The hearth was of dirt with a hole in the middle made by much sweeping. There was a puncheon table with forked sticks for legs, and wooden trenchers for plates. Sharp pieces of cane were used for forks; there was one knife without a handle, and one tin cup for the use of the entire family. In one corner was a pallet of leaves on a post frame with a thin quilt over it.
When Abe Lincoln entered the one room he found the mother bending over the hearth, and a small girl, with a black eye, trying to quiet a dirty baby which kicked on the post bed.
At a first glance Lincoln saw that the woman was in trouble, and, while she thanked him in a crude way for the return of the pennies and took them eagerly, her mind was thus only partially diverted from the trouble.
Hungry for pity, and led to believe she might get it from this tall youth who had come so far to return her change, the woman poured out her tale of woe.
Her pig was gone—her only pig—the pig which the children had divided food with that they might have a bit of meat for the winter. Her husband would not fix the pen and the pighad escaped and gone some days before. The bitter loss was too much for the poor woman, and she broke down and wept.
Moved with pity, Abe Lincoln asked what kind of a pig it was.
"Black, with a white spot on its left shank, and a white eye, and its ear was fresh cut with two slits and a cross mark—like this," and bending over the hearth she made some marks in the ashes which Lincoln looked at carefully. "I suppose some wolf or cat smelled the blood, cause nobody would steal a pig in these parts, would they?" and there was appeal in her voice as she asked the question.
Further discussion about the pig was cut off by a screech from the child, whose face suddenly took on an expression of great fear, while her eyes seemed fixed in horror on something she saw coming toward the house.
Abe Lincoln glanced out.
"It's her Pap coming," the woman explained. "He beat her somethin' fearful yesterday cause she got in the mud. And he told her he'd throw her in up to her neck to-day if she got in the mud, and let her stick there till the buzzards eat 'er up. And how is the poorchild to help it when her Pap has brought her here where there ain't nothing but mud to fall in?" Then, turning to the child, she said: "'Tain't no use to have fits. Nobody but God can keep him from gittin' ye."
"Nobody but God, eh?" Abe Lincoln said. "We'll see."
The man came staggering toward the house, cursing and growling, his drunken wrath seeming to centre itself on the child whose face was transfixed with terror.
The child screamed just as he was about to enter the house to make good his threats. Then there suddenly pounced upon him, from just inside, something that caught him in a grip like that of a vise, and pulled him back outside. And then this something, which was a very tall youth, began shaking him and slowly making his way, as he did so, toward the creek.
As a result of the none too gentle shaking, the liquid matter the drunkard had imbibed began to return to the world of visible things until what seemed an endless amount had been emptied along the way they were taking. When the burden of liquor had been lightened, the drunkard, now chattering for pity, was ducked in thestream until his dripping chin was washed clean, and his thick tongue limbered up.
He was then marched back to the cabin door from which the wife, and child with a black eye, looked out in speechless wonder.
"Here you are now," said the tall man. "My name is Abe Lincoln. I keep store in town. I can get here in twenty minutes any time I'm needed to break up this child-beatin'—understand?" and he was off.
It was that same night Abe Lincoln dropped down to Clary's Grove, where he was now always welcome. When he arrived he found a feast in course of preparation. A pig was roasting in the fire and the savory odor permeated the air as different ones of the gang poked the fire, basted the roast, and otherwise prepared for the occasion.
"Just in time, my son, Abry Linkhorn," said Ole Bar.
"Where'd you get that pig?" Lincoln inquired.
"It lit in a tree and we clubbed it out and picked it. 'Tain't none too fat, but it'll do."
"Let me look at its ears," Lincoln said."Two slits and a cross" he observed. Then he told the story of Snoutful Kelly's wife and her great grief at the loss of the pig.
There was a moment of impressive silence. Then one of the gang said: "Clary's Grove has done some things that hain't been written in no book, but they don't steal from no weepin' wimmin, and beat up hungry children. As good a pig must be put back in that pen as was ever caught in the woods by the wolves and cats."
This speech expressed the sentiment of the company, and a game was played to see who would replace the pig. When this had been decided they returned to their feast with consciences apparently as clear as those of children.
It was the second day following the feast by the Clary Grove Boys, that Ann Rutledge missed one of her pigs. Ann was not only a famous needle woman, a spinner, and a cook, but she had good luck raising pigs and chickens, and her father gave her a pig or two in each litter, which were to be her own to help in getting her education.
Now her pig was gone—a black one with a white spot on its flank.
Mounted on one of John Rutledge's good horses, Ann set out to search the woods for her pig.
She had gotten some distance without finding any trace of it, when she heard the cry of a child. Following the direction from which the sound came, she soon discovered a forlorn little specimen of a girl, with a black and purple eye, who was looking about in different directions as if not knowing which way to go, and was crying.
"What's the matter?" asked Ann Rutledge, "are you lost?"
"Yes," the child answered.
"Who are you—and where do you live?"
"I'm Katy Kelly, and I live at Muddy Point. Our pig is lost again," she sobbed. "We got it home once, but the pen broke, and now it's gone again."
"I'm looking for a pig, too," Ann said. "Get up on my horse, and we'll look a little and then I'll take you home."
The child climbed on, and the search continued. But the child no longer had eyes for anything but Ann Rutledge.
"How did you hurt your eye?" Ann asked kindly.
"Pap, he did it. He bunged me with his fist. He said he'd git me again the same way, and stick me in the mud till the buzzards picked my eyes out. I was scared to death. It's horrible to get bunged and beat. I begged Maw to keep Pap from beatin' me again, but he beats her, too, and she said nobody but God could keep him from beatin' me up. Just as he was about to git me, here comes God with the longest legs on earth, and he reached out his long arms an' got Pap and shook all the red eye out of him he's poured in fer a year. Then he ducked him until he got sobered up. Mam says Pap won't beat me no more, she'll bet on it, 'cause God—He can git anywhere on them legs, in twenty minutes."
This story was told between snubs and sobs, and the dirty dress sleeve was called into use between sentences to dry the tearful eyes and dripping nose.
Ann Rutledge was interested.
"So God came to help you?"
"Yep—his name is Abe Lincoln—he told Pap."
"Abe Lincoln!" Ann exclaimed. Then she rode a long way without speaking. She was thinking. The name brought the picture of astrong, elemental man, seemingly older than his years, a man who had said he was going to play fair with God, a man whom Nance Cameron had pronounced the homeliest creature that God ever put breath in.
"There's home," the child presently said, "and,there's the pig."
Ann looked. A small black pig with a white spot on its flank. She knew the pig.
But when she dismounted to examine the pig she found its ear cut with two slits and a cross.
"We found it in the pen. At first I couldn't believe it," Mrs. Kelly exclaimed. "It looked a bit fatter than mine, but it's ear was fresh marked; I cut it myself. And I thanked God it had come back."
"You thanked God," Ann observed as if to herself.
"Yes—for it's our only winter meat. And when it got out again I was sick over it—and likely it will get away some more, for Kelly never fixed a pen that would hold, in his life."
"I'll help you fix the pen," Ann said, and she did, meantime wondering about the pig, for she would have sworn it was her own.
CHAPTER XI
PETER CARTWRIGHT ARRIVES
It wason a September day that the famous Peter Cartwright jogged into New Salem on a stiff-legged pony, and drew up before Rutledge Inn.
His visit had been long expected and great preparations had been made for the camp-meeting which was to be held in the Springfield district in a few days.
No announcement had been made of the time Peter Cartwright would arrive, yet in that mysterious way that news spreads over a small town, even while he was yet removing the saddle bags from his tired pony, sightseers had congregated on the opposite side of the street, and before sun-down everybody in town knew that the great preacher was stopping for the night at Rutledge Inn.
Abe Lincoln had been invited to the Inn, with the select few who often made the little party, to meet Rev. Peter Cartwright. They met a rather small, wiry man with bright fox-like eyes, and hair inclined to be curly, which stood out in every direction on a round head.
He talked freely, criticizing in no unmeasured terms such preachers as preach not against slavery, dram drinking, dancing, or the putting on of costly apparel and jewelry. Then with a twinkle in his small, bright eye, he said that his risibilities were often hard to keep down owing to some things that happened as he traveled his circuit, and he told them an incident:
"I rode one day into Springfield to transact a little business. My horse had at one time been an excellent pony, but now had the stiff complaint. I stopped for a few moments into a store to purchase a few articles, and I saw in the store a young lady in company with two young men; we were perfect strangers; they soon passed out and rode off. After transacting my business I left the store, mounted my stiff pony, and set out for home. After riding some distance, I saw just ahead of me a two-horse wagon, with the cover rolled up. It was warm weather, and I saw in the wagon those two young men and the young lady that I had seen in the store. As I drew near them they began to sing one of our camp-meeting songs, and they appeared to sing with great animation. Presently the young lady began to shout, and said 'Gloryto God! Glory to God!' The driver cried out 'Amen, Glory to God!'
"My first impressions were that they had been across the Sangamon River to a camp-meeting that I knew was in progress there, and had obtained religion, and were happy. As I drew a little nearer, the young lady began to sing and shout again. The young man who was not driving fell down and cried aloud for mercy; the other two shouting at the top of their voices, cried out, 'Glory to God! another sinner's down.' Then they began to exhort the young man that was down, saying, 'Pray on, brother; pray on, brother; you will soon get religion'; and up jumped the young man that was down, shouting aloud, saying, 'God has blessed my soul. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Glory to God!'
"Thinking all was right, I felt like riding up and joining in the songs of triumph and shouts of joy that rose from these three happy persons; but, as I neared the wagon, I saw them cast glances at each other and at me, and I suspected then that they were making a mock of religious things, and, knowing me to be a preacher, wished to fool me. I stopped my horse and fell back, and rode slowly, thinking they would ride on,and so not annoy me any more; but when I checked my horse and went slow, they slackened their pace and went slow too, and the driver changed places with the other young man; then they began again to sing and shout at a furious rate and down fell the first driver, and up went a new shout of 'Glory to God! another sinner's down. Pray on, brother; pray on, brother; the Lord will bless you.' Presently up sprang the driver, saying, 'Glory to God! He has blessed me.' And both the others shouted and said, 'Another sinner's converted, another sinner's converted. Hallelujah! Glory to God!' A rush of indignant feeling came all over me, and I felt as if I wanted to ride up and horsewhip both of these rowdies, and if a lady had not been present I might have done so, but, as it was, I did not. It was a vexatious encounter; if my horse had been fleet, as in former days, I could have rode right off and left them in their glory, but he was stiff, and when I would fall back and go slow, they would check up; and when I would spur my stiff pony and try to get ahead of them they would crack the whip and keep ahead of me; and thus they tormented me until my patience was entirely exhausted. They kept up acontinual roar of 'Another sinner's down! Another soul's converted! Glory to God! Pray on, brother! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Glory to God!' and I felt it was more than any good minister ought to bear.
"I cannot describe my feelings at this time. It seemed that I was delivered over to be tormented by the devil and his imps. Just at this moment I thought of a terrible mud-hole about a quarter of a mile ahead. It was a long one and very deep mud, and many teams had stuck in it, and had to be pried out. Near the center of this mud-hole there was a place of mud deeper than anywhere else. On the right stood a stump about two feet high; all the wagons had to be driven close to this stump so as to avoid a deep rut on the left, where many wagons had stuck. I knew where there was a small bridle way that wound round through the brush to avoid the mud, and the thought occurred to me that, when we came up to this muddy place, I would take the bridle way, and put my horse at the top of his speed and by so doing get away from these miserable tormentors, as I knew they could not drive fast through this long plot of mud. When we drove near to the commencement of themud I took the bridle path, and put spurs and whip to my horse. Perceiving that I was rapidly leaving them in the rear, their driver cracked his whip, and put his horses at almost full speed, and such was their anxiety to keep up with me to carry out their sport that, when they came to this bad place, they never saw the stump on the right. The fore wheel of the wagon struck centrally on the stump, and as the wheel mounted the stump over went the wagon. Fearing it would turn entirely over and catch them under, the two young men took a leap into the mud, and when they lighted they sunk up to their middle. The young lady was dressed in white, and as the wagon went over, she sprang as far as she could, and lighted on all fours; her hands sunk into the mud up to her armpits, her mouth and the whole of her face immersed in the muddy water, and she certainly would have strangled if the young man had not relieved her. I rode up to the edge of the mud, stopped my horse, reared in my stirrups and shouted at the top of my voice:
"'Glory to God! Glory to God! Hallelujah! another sinner's down! Glory to God! Hallelujah! Glory! Hallelujah!'
"If ever youngsters felt mean those did; andwell they might, for they had carried on all this sport to make light of religion, and to insult a minister, a total stranger to them. But they contemned religion, and hated Methodists, especially Methodist preachers.
"When I became tired of shouting over them, I said to them: 'Now you poor, dirty, mean sinners, take this as a just judgment of God upon you for your meanness, and repent of your dreadful wickedness; and let this be the last time that you attempt to insult a preacher; for if you repeat your abominable sport and persecutions, the next time God will serve you worse, and the devil will get you.'
"They felt so badly that they never uttered one word of reply. Now I was very glad that I did not horsewhip them, as I felt like doing; but that God had avenged His own cause, and defended His own honor without my doing it with carnal weapons. Later, at one of my prosperous camp-meetings, I had the great pleasure to see all three of these young people converted to God, and I took them into the Methodist Church."[1]
Cartwright's mission was not, however,story-telling, as was soon made evident. "Time is bearing on us," he said, "toward the Judgment. Are we prepared?Thisis the question—it is theone greatquestion. Brethren and sisters, is every soul here prepared to meet his God? Let me see." There was a general indication that those present were. Abe Lincoln did not signify readiness. "We are going to pray," Cartwright said, "and you, my young friend," addressing him, "should humble yourself and call to God for deliverance from hell, for surely the enemy of man's soul is on his track, and damnation is the eternal punishment of the unsaved. Fear hell and flee to God."
"But I don't fear hell," Abe Lincoln said comfortably.
"Don't fear hell?" and there was both condemnation and surprise in Cartwright's tone as he repeated the words. "By such unbelief you question the existence of God."
"No—I don't question the existence of God, but I would if I believed eternal damnation. You see, parson, you and me don't measure God by the same yardstick."
"But to doubt hell is to doubt God. The same inspired book is the authority for both."
"For some, maybe, but not for others. Old Snoutful Kelly brought a child into the world without never once askin' her whether she wanted to come or not. Then he moved her to Muddy Point where there was nothin' but mud, without askin' her if she wanted to go. Then he told her to keep out of the mud, and when she couldn't he gave her a black eye. Having knocked her blind, he told her if she got into the mud again he'd 'souse her in a mud-hole to her ears and leave her there for the buzzards to pick her eyes out.' Now you say God brings us here children into this world without askin' nothin' about it, where there's devilment all about us, and we didn't put that here, either. Then you have God give us a black eye with this original sin you preach about, which makes us sin whether we want to or not, and when He gets us He promises hell fire and eternal damnation for gettin' into sin. This here don't sound like God to me. It sounds like Snoutful Kelly."
The silence that followed this statement was the kind that seems reduced to pound-weight. Cartwright stared at the presumptuous youth who had uttered such words. When he could speak, he said: "Coming from the lips of a wormof the dust, I should call such sacrilege—nothing short of blasphemy."
"Might be true if I counted myself among worms, but I don't—I may look like a worm, Brother Cartwright, or a pair of worms, or even four worms of the dust tied together, but I haven't none of that wormy feelin' you hint at, and I don't take stock in wormy religion. The Good Book is full of more upliftin' texts than the wormy ones. I'd forget about hell fire and worms of the dust for a while if I was a preacher."
"What would you preach, Abe?" Mentor Graham asked.
"Want to know, do you?"
"Yes—yes," the answer was given by both Rutledge and Doctor Allen.
Lincoln arose. For a moment he seemed slouchy, bent, and ill at ease. Then he straightened up and announced his text, "'Beloved, now are ye the sons of God, and it does not yet appear what we shall be.'"
As he spoke, a wonderful change came over him. His face lit up, his gestures grew natural and strong, his voice, thin-sounding at first, took on melody, his ill-fitting clothing was forgotten.He seemed for the moment lifted away from his surroundings, and those listening were lifted with him.