Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 57, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 March 1911 — THE WOMAN WHO SHAPED A WONDERFUL CAREER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE WOMAN WHO SHAPED A WONDERFUL CAREER

■mm HE history of every great man, declares a well-known writer, begins at his mother’s knee. Behind every great endeavor and w ** unselfish deed, *bvery noble career of every Illustrious man will be found a woman—the frail Jkl and gentle creature whose name. ■ jK perhaps, remains obscured behind the glory of her son, but who began to teach him high thoughts and ideals and to lisp

the words of “Our Father, which art in heaven." Abraham Lincoln’s career began at the knee of Nancy Hanks Lincoln, his mother. It was she who taught him to read from an old Bible he came to know so well, whb told him the stories in Aesop’s fables and helped him to study the “Kentucky Perceptor.” It was she who taught him the letters of the alphabet and first trained his hand to •crawl them. It was she who Instilled in him a hatred of Blavery and by her own gentle loveliness inspired a regard and esteem for women which lasted throughout his life. Nancy Hanks Uncoln, one of the great president's historians declares, was “stoopshouldered, thin-breasted, sad —at times miserable;" a gently kind, uncomplaining woman, whose life had been one of hard labor, with few enjoyments, and who died before her prime. This was Nancy Hanks Lincoln, who lay on her deathbed, tired and worn, her face wan, her thin, bony hands clasping those of a nine-year-old lad, whose deep-sunk eyes were filled with tears, and who, when h© later became “a liberator of a race of men,” declared: “All. that I am or ever hope to be I owe to my mother. Blessings on her memory." From his mother Lincoln once told his friend and law partner, William H. Herndon, be believed he Inherited his power of analysis, his logic, his mental activity and his ambition. Her memory remained with him, one of the dearest things of his life —“a noble type of good, heroic womanhood.” Nancy Hanks was five years old when her parents sold their farm in \ irginia and went pioneering westward toward Kentucky. Naney was the youngest of a family of eight children. Her father was Joseph Hanks and her mother Nancy Shipley, a daughter of Robert Bhipley. Nancy was bom February 5. 1784. The Journey westward was a perilous one, and It is said Nancy was stolen by Indians while her parents were on the way. Roads were bad; in fact, there was only a footpath through the wildemesß, where passed the long procession of women and children on horseback, men trudging behind driving the caravans. Picture to yourself the procession, described by Justice Robertson —“through privations incredible and perils thick, thousands of men, women and children came In successive caravans, forming continuous streams of human beings, horses, cattle and other domestic animals, moving onward along a lonely and homeless path to a wild and cheerless land. “Cast your eyes back,” he continues, “on that long procession of missionaries in the cause of civilisation; behold the men on foot, with their trusty guns on their shoulders, driving stock and leading pack horses; and the women, some walking with pails on their heads, others riding with children in their laps and other children swung in baskets on horses, fastened to the tails of others going before; see them encamped at night, expecting to be massacred by Indians; behold them In the month of December. In that memorable Mason of unprecedented cold called the ’hard winter,’ traveling two or three miles a day." And imagine little Nancy Hanks, sptndlylegged and golden-haired, shivering as she snuggled under blankets, pursuing the road of the pioneers. In the child who was to become the mother of Abraham Lincoln was now developed a courage and perseverance which was to be inherited and which afterward marked one of the greatest of men. B settled in Washington county, Hard work confronted them. Trees had be be felled, a log d shelter erected for the stock. :y, with her sisters, Elizabeth ped their mother, cooking and -eparing the rude home, while Charles, Joshua, William, Thom* went about with the father, td tor cultivation in the spring, fllmal- and fished to the cold

streams. And when spring came they dug th# hard, stony ground and planted wheat and corn. Thus four years passed—four years of hard toil and hard living—and then Joseph Hanks died. Not long afterward the mother, worn with toil, followed; the brothers and daughters married, and Nancy, left alone, was taken in by her Aunt Lucy— a slater of her mother, who had married Richard Berry. This home was a happy one and Nancy grew up, cheerful and pretty. When Nancy's father died he left a will. It Is still on the records of the Bardstown clerk’s office, and as will be seen, Nancy was the proud heiress of one heifer, a pet called Peidy. The quaint will, which was probated May 14, 1793, runs: “In the name of God, Amen. I, Joseph Hanks, of Nelson county, state of Kentucky, being of sound mind and memory, but weak in body and calling to mjnd the frailty of all human nature, do make and demise this my last will and testament in the manner and form following, to wit: "Item: I give and bequeath unto my son Thomas one sorrel horse called Major. Item: I give and bequeath unto my son Joshua one gray mare Bonny. Item: I give and bequeath unto my son William one gray horse called Gilbert. Item: I give and bequeath unto my. son Charles one roan horse called Tobe. Item: I give and bequeath unto my son Joseph one horse called Bald. Also the land whereon I now live containing one hundred and fifty acres. “Item: I give and bequeath unto my daughter Elizabeth one heifer yearling called Gentle. Item: I give and bequeath unto my daughter Polly one heifer yearling called Lady. Item: I give and bequeath unto my daughter Nancy one heifer yearling called Peidy. Item: I give and bequeath unto my wife Nanny all and singular my whole estate during her life, afterward to be equaHy divided between all my children. It is also my wish and desire that the whole of the property first above bequeathed should be the property of my wife during her life.” Here, too, can be found £ record of the seed which budded so nobly in Joseph Hanks’ grandson. Joseph Hanks, unlike most of the pioneers. owned no slaves. When Nancy Hanks later married Thomas Lincoln they bought no slaves and never owned any. Naucy’s life while she lived with her Aunt Lucy was happy. She grew* into a young miss of unusual beauty and became the belle of the countryside. She learned to read and write, and was considered exceptionally accomplished. When she married Thomas Lincoln she taught hfm to spell the letters of his name. There are but few and meager descriptions of Nancy Hauks. One learns that she was slight of figure, that her hair was pale golden, almost flaxen, and her eyes were blue. Her wit was nimble. Suitors thronged the parlor of Aunt Lucy’s farm. But Nancy lost her heart to none; she laughed gaily at their protests, parried their importunate proposals with jest and was so good natured. so mirthful and funny about It that all remained her friends. Nancy often went to the farm of Joseph Hanks, at Elisabethtown, where she saw her cousin, Thomas Unco In. Thomas was a carpenter, and If the records are true, the best In the country for many miles. He rpt only hacked and hewed and chiseled wood with skill, but he did what none others had succeeded in doing—dhiseled his way into the heart of Nancy. Thomas Lincoln had a varied career. He was strong as an ox, temperate in his habits, an attendant at church and was bitterly opposed to slavery. Both he and Nancy agreed in that The couple entered into a marriage bead on Jane 11, 1806. On June 14 the couple were married by a Methodist preacher, the Rev. Jesse Head, who besides being a clergyman. was an editor, country Judge and carpenter. And s wedding it was —with merrymaking and feasting. There wot* present the MU-

cI) ells, Shipleys and Berrys, Narfcy*s cousins, relatives and friends from the country roundabout. In a pit near the house a great fire was built, over which a sheep was placed andbarbecued. During the morning It roasted, covered by green boughs, and after the wedding it was cut and served for dinner. There were venison, too, and wild turkey and ducks. The wedding was remembered for years. “There was no hint of future glory in the wedding cr bringing home, of Nancy Lincoln," wrote Nicolay and Hay. “All accounts represent her as a handsome young woman of twenty-three, of appearance and intellect superior to her lowly fortunes. She could read and write—-a remarkable accomplishment in her circle —and even taught her husband to form the letters'of his name. He had no such valuable wedding gift to bestow upon her; he brought her to a little house In Elizabethtown, where he and she and want dwelt together in fourteen feet square.” For two happy but needy years the couple lived in a log cabin on the banks of what was then known as Mill creek. Picture to yourself that home of the young bride —a single room, with a huge fireplace, where logs burned In winter; an iron pot suspended from a crane, rough chairs hewn by the carpenter husband of logs, a number of crude benches, a bed made of rough trees from which the bark had not been removed, a spinning wheel by which the industrious wife sat and wove the material for clothing; a room lacking in comforts, typical of the pioneer cabins of those days, with an opening above into a loft, reached by a ladder, where things were stored. There, one day In 1807, Nancy’s first baby was born. It was a little girl, and was called Nancy, after the mother. Later the little girl’s name was changed to Sarah. That was when Thomas Lincoln married his second wife. Sarah Bush, f Thomas Lincoln owned a farm near Buffalo, which he had bought in 1803. During the two years he lived on Mill creek he cultivated the farm, lmprovipg the ground, and there he moved the spring following the birth of Sarah. In their life of Uncoln Nicol&y and Hay write: "Thomas Uncoln settled down in this dismal solitude to a deeper poverty than any of his name had ever knpwn; and there, in the midst of the most unpromising circumstances that ever witnessed th© advent of a hero into this world, Abraham Lincoln was born on February I*, 1809.” The family, however, could not have been extremely destitute, for, we are told, they bad a cow and a calf, milk and butter and a feather bed. What wealth! When Abraham was four the family moved again—this time to a cabin, situated on Muldraugh’a hill. There a third child was born, which died when a few months old. Of the Hfe of Nancy Uncoln at this time nothing has been written. Of his boyhood Linooln himself seldom spoke. But one can imagine the patient woman, alone and unassisted. performing the work of her household, tending the sows and milking them, making butter, claiming the meagerly famished cabin in which Che family lived, cooking and spinning cloth of which she made the garments for her husband, little Barah and Abe. Nancy Lincoln’s bsanty faded; the roses fled from her cheeks, bar body became wasted

and her shoulders stooped. But her happy spirit never left her; she had a word of cheer for all her neighbors. Stories are told of how she visited the sick and comforted them, and how, when her neighbors were in difficulty, her ten der heart was moved and she helped them as best she could. Her life was hard. But there was cause for joy in Nancy Lincoln’s life. Little Abe was her constant delight. At night, when her work was over, she would open the “preceptor” book and teach the two children the letters of the alphabet. With what tenderness and love she must have watched them as

they studied —so Lard to memorize the A’s, B’s and C's —and with what doting fondness she must have trained little Abe’s tiny hand to trace the letters on a slate! Dearly Nancy Lincoln loved the Bible, and there w€re readings from the sacred book; there was told the old, old story. And these stories Lincoln never forgot. When, in after life, he electrified the world by his eloquence, his mastery of pure and perfect English and his tempestuous oratory, he retold the same stories—the stories he heard at his mother’s knee. Life was not prosperous with the father. He left Kentucky and went prospecting in Illinois, where he took up land on Little Pigeon creek, in Spencer county. And again the hard-worked wife was called upon to move her home. With their furniture packed in a wagon and their cow behind, the family started on their long pilgrimage in 1816. During the winter of 1816 and 1817 the family lived in a camp. The winter was rigorous. Uncomplainingly the tender, gentle woman bore her let, but her health slowly gave way> her face became more wan. A rough cabin was begun in the spring and life opened anew. Land waß cleared. Thomas. Lincoln plied his trade among the scattered inhabitants of the solitary region. They began to prosper. But the life had been too hard for the tender, loving wife and she sank under the burden. One day in October, 1818, as she lay in her bed in the little cabin, she called he! 1 two children to her. “She took the bands of Sarah and the thin, serious-faced boy. “Be good to one another,” she said, brokenly, with infinite tenderness. Then she closed her eyes. The wonderful smile deepened. The sunlight faded into evening, and little Abe. leaving Sarah kneeling by the bed, crept away and climbed the pegs in the wall to the garret, where he flung himself on the mattress of leaves. Night fell, and from the loft came a stifled sound of sobbing—sobbing repressed, checked, restrained, yet so poignant, so keen, so heartforlorn that the father, returning home, paused hearing it, his heart sinking. He knew the Bunlight of the boy’s life bad departed. Many years afterward people wondered at the sorrow moulded indelibly on the face of Lincoln —like agony graven on a figure of stone. Before the next December Thomas Lincoln married Sarah Bußh Johnston, a widow, who, it is saidt had rejected him many years before. In later years, when Lincoln, again shrouded In sorrow, sat by the bedside of his little son, Willie, who was dying, he cried In despair: “This is the hardest trial of my life. Why is it? Why is it?” A nurse who had lost her husband and children told .him of her loss, adding, “But I trust in God. I rely upon his will.” Lincoln shook his head sadly. On the day of the funeral be asked the nurse and some friends to pray for him. "I will try to go to God with my sorrows,” he said. “I wish I had that childlike faith you speak of. I trust God will give it to me.” Thai his memory traveled back over the years and his first loss by death came to his mind. He told of his mother’s confident belief in the wisdom of God. ’1 remember her prayers,” be said in a low voice “and they have always followed me. They have followed me all my Ilfs.”