The Backwoods Boy

Horatio Alger

Horatio Alger Jr.

The Backwoods Boy / or The Boyhood and Manhood of Abraham Lincoln

PREFACE

I venture to say that among our public men there is not one whose life can be studied with more interest and profit by American youth than that of Abraham Lincoln. It is not alone that, born in an humble cabin, he reached the highest position accessible to an American, but especially because in every position which he was called upon to fill, he did his duty as he understood it, and freely sacrificed personal ease and comfort in the service of the humblest. I have prepared the story of Lincoln’s boyhood and manhood as a companion volume to the life of Garfield, which I published two years since, under the title, “From Canal Boy to President.” The cordial welcome which this received has encouraged me to persevere in my plan of furnishing readers, young and old, with readable lives of the greatest and best men in our history. I can hardly hope at this late day to have contributed many new facts, or found much new material. I have been able, however, through the kindness of friends, to include some anecdotes not hitherto published. But for the most part I have relied upon the well-known and valuable lives of Lincoln by Dr. Holland and Ward H. Lamon. I also acknowledge, with pleasure, my indebtedness to “Six Months in the White House,” by F. B. Carpenter; Henry J. Raymond’s “History of Lincoln’s Administration,” and the “Life of Lincoln,” by D. W. Bartlett. I commend, with confidence, either or all of these works to those of my readers who may desire a more thorough and exhaustive life of “The Backwoods Boy.”

В В В В Horatio Alger, Jr.

New York, July 4, 1883.

CHAPTER I

THE LOG-CABIN

Three children stood in front of a rough log-cabin in a small clearing won from the surrounding forest. The country round about was wild and desolate. Not far away was a vast expanse of forest, including oaks, beeches, walnuts and the usual variety of forest trees.

We are in Indiana, and the patch of land on which the humble log-cabin stood is between the forks of Big Pigeon and Little Pigeon Creeks, a mile and a half east of Gentryville, a small village not then in existence.

The oldest of the three children was Nancy Lincoln, about twelve years old. Leaning against the cabin in a careless attitude was a tall, spindling boy, thin-faced, and preternaturally grave, with a swarthy complexion. He was barefoot and ragged; the legs of his pantaloons, which were much too short, revealing the lower part of his long legs; for in his boyhood, as in after days, he ran chiefly to legs.

Who in the wildest flight of a daring imagination would venture to predict that this awkward, sad-faced, ragged boy would forty years later sit in the chair of Washington, and become one of the rulers of the earth? I know of nothing more wonderful in the Arabian Nights than this.

The second boy was a cousin of the other two children – Dennis Hanks, who, after the death of his parents, had come to live in the Lincoln household.

The sun was near its setting. It seemed already to have set, for it was hidden by the forest trees behind which it had disappeared.

“Abe,” said the girl, addressing her brother, “do you think father will be home to-night?”

“I reckon,” answered Abe laconically, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I hope so,” said Dennis. “It’s lonesome stayin’ here by ourselves.”

“There some one comin’ with father,” said Nancy slowly. “We’re goin’ to have a new mother. I hope we’ll like her.”

“It’ll seem good to have a woman in the house,” said Dennis. “It seems lonesome-like where they’re all men.”

“I reckon you mean yourself and me,” said Abe smiling.

The boy’s grave, thin face brightened up as he said this in a humorous tone.

“Then I ought to be considered a woman if you two are goin’ to set up as men,” said Nancy. “But Dennis is right. It’ll be good for us if she’s the right sort. Some step-mothers ain’t.”

“I reckon y